Wind and Running Water
by frazthealien
Summary: A retelling of Arthurian legend based on the premise of series 1 of Merlin, largely focussing on Morgana’s development of her magic, how she comes to leave Camelot and so forth. Arthur/Morgana, Arthur/Gwen and others.
1. Chapter 1

**Wind and Running Water**

Characters/Pairings: All main characters and quite a few others; mostly Arthur/Morgana and Arthur/Gwen but some other pairings (all het).  
Warnings: Character death (including suicide); non-graphic sex and violence; flagrant mutilation of Arthurian legend (though the series has set something of a precedent in that regard).  
Disclaimer: The Merlin characters are unfortunately still not mine.  
Spoilers: All the way through series 1.  
A/N: This was supposed to be a short, sweet story about Arthur and Morgana, but somehow turned into an unfluffy, plotty story concerning nearly all of the characters and spanning most of their lives. I'm still not sure how this happened. Also, I am unaware of any spoilers for series 2, so I have no idea if this is consistent with them or not.

**PART ONE**

-o-o-

**1.**

-o-o-

Gwen was showing Morgana how to make daisy chains and was surprised that she didn't know.

"But I suppose," she said, "that you don't need to make silly chains out of flowers when you have all the jewellery you want."

Morgana was about to speak but Gwen gasped and apologised. "I didn't mean to be rude, I just meant-"

"I know what you meant, don't worry." She smiled kindly then frowned as she spilt a stem too far. "I like these, though, they're charming."

She looked up and saw Arthur approaching. "Unlike certain people I could mention." Gwen giggled slightly at that.

Arthur greeted them and Morgana offered him the chain she'd made. He held it up at one end and examined it.

"It's a bit… malformed," he decided.

"It's the first one I've made," said Morgana proudly.

"Huh."

"It's a present," she said.

"Well," said Arthur, pocketing it, "I did find something to repay you for that hilarious prank you played the other day." He opened his other hand and dropped a large slug on Morgana's dress. She squealed and jumped up, making him laugh.

"_Arthur!_ I was going to wear this tonight!" She pulled off the slug and glared at it distastefully before putting it carefully on the ground.

He scowled. "I thought you were afraid of slugs. Oh well."

"Oh well? You've got _slime_ on me, Arthur!"

He had the decency to look guilty for a second. "You have a lot of dresses lying around. I'm sure it'll come out."

"It's lucky for you that Daddy got you a sword or I'd be pummelling you right now."

"Ah, like the good old days."

"The good old days when you lost to a girl."

"Obviously I always let you win."

"_Obviously_."

"Well, I'm not the one with the slimy clothes, so I suppose I win this time."

"I'd rather that than a slimy personality," said Morgana as he swaggered off.

"Maybe we should get you another dress," said Gwen. She always tried to fade into the background when Arthur and Morgana started to argue, because otherwise she felt uncomfortable. She had simply concentrated on putting her own chain round her neck.

Back in Morgana's chambers, Gwen sifted through the gowns in the cupboard, admiring them. "Which one would you like? They're all so lovely."

"You could try one on if you like."

"Oh no," she said, "I couldn't do that."

Morgana insisted, and a few minutes later Gwen was smiling at herself in the mirror. She was wearing a deep blue satin dress that rippled gracefully as she moved.

"You look beautiful," said Morgana.

"Oh, don't be silly," said Gwen. "It's just a beautiful dress. I bet even Arthur would look good in it."

Morgana laughed loudly. "If you can work out how to trick him into wearing it, you can have all my dresses you want."

Gwen changed back into her own plain attire and helped Morgana into a purple gown with delicate silver detailing. She felt a little pang of envy sometimes that everyone commented on how Uther's ward was growing from a pretty young girl into a beautiful young woman. Even Arthur had started to gaze after her when she wasn't looking and then teased her all the more as if he were irritated by how much she distracted him. But Gwen supposed she could not bear the scrutiny Morgana was under – she had never liked being the centre of attention. The way that servants were largely ignored was something of a blessing to her.

"What do you think?" asked Morgana, twirling for her inspection.

"You look like a princess," said Gwen sincerely.

Morgana pulled a face.

"I didn't mean… I meant you _could_ be a princess, not that you're _going_ to be. Obviously, that's…" She floundered.

"It's all right, Gwen. Just don't give me nightmares!"

-o-

Years later Morgana was preparing for yet another feast, this time welcoming King Urien and his knights. She finished fixing her hair as she listened to Arthur pacing around her bedroom and railing about his new manservant. Usually they lasted about a month before Arthur frightened them away or decided they were completely inept, but it seemed Merlin was fast approaching a record for the shortest time in service.

"He's only been here a week and already he's worse than Gavin – you remember Gavin?"

"A very sweet young man," she said, wondering whether she should send for Gwen to help her put her hair up or leave it as it was. Gwen seemed a little scared of Arthur at the best of times and at this moment his temper would have put anyone off. She decided it would be fine down.

"Perhaps, but he was mostly incompetent, which at least puts him above _Merlin,_ who doesn't have a clue about anything. Do you know how many dents he's put in my armour? Of course, he always manages to straighten them out… which is very strange. That's another thing – he's not just useless, he's…" Arthur struggled for the right word.

"I know what you mean," said Morgana, turning round to face him. "There's something different about him. Maybe that's enough that you should give him a chance. And of course, he saved your life."

Arthur ignored her comment, looking her up and down. "That's an exquisite dress."

Morgana always found a strange pleasure in flummoxing Arthur, and clearly he was confused, being attracted to someone he constantly made fun of. It wasn't that she cared what he thought of her looks.

"A pity about the model," he added and she admitted that maybe she did care a bit. "I'm sure our visitors will lap it all up though, if they're anything like the fawning sycophants we usually get."

She was surprised that he should say that; usually he liked anything and everything that could be used to prop up his ego. "I'm wasted here, you know. They at least appreciate me. They value my beauty, my wit, that certain ladylike air…"

"In that case you'd better take good care of your beauty," said Arthur, not having to dodge the cushion that was so carelessly thrown at him from across the room. "You always were a terrible aim," he teased. "No need to be childish, Morgana."

She swept over and sat delicately on the bed, folding her gown underneath her. "Well, I for one wish you'd be a little more childish sometimes. You've been so boring ever since you decided to behave responsibly at all costs – not to mention incredibly self-important."

Arthur pretended to gasp. "My lady, you do insult my honour."

She smiled deviously. "Would that there were something to insult, sire."

He made blustering noises and suddenly reached out to muss up her hair.

"Arthur!" She attempted vainly to comb it back into place with her fingers.

"Childish enough for you?" He smirked at her. "Now you'll _have_ to work on your wits – I only want for your self-improvement."

Morgana narrowed her eyes at him, considered for a moment, then calmly walked back to her dressing-table to repair the damage.

"What, no counter?" he taunted.

"Oh, there will be… when you least expect it."

"Very well then, let the games begin."

It was easy enough for Morgana to "accidentally" tip her goblet of water onto Arthur's lap just as they were about to depart from the banquet; it was extremely difficult for her to keep a straight face as they left, Arthur almost walking sideways to conceal the stain.

"I cannot _believe_ you did that!" he hissed at her once they were out of the dining hall.

She took the opportunity to snigger at him. "You obviously don't know me very well then. I win this round."

"Fine, you win, but I am never speaking to you again!" he shouted down at her as he hurried upstairs to change.

"Thank God for that!" she called at his retreating back, though Arthur had made that particular promise a thousand times and never yet managed to keep it for more than half a day.

-o-

Uther had asked Morgana to entertain Princess Morfyth for a couple of hours. Unfortunately this seemed to involve her wandering around the castle grounds listening to Morfyth endlessly extolling Arthur's virtues.

"I mean, his eyes are just so… so _blue_, like the sky." She wondered whether the princess had ever considered a career as a poet. "Haven't you ever got lost in those eyes?"

"I find them pretty easy to navigate," replied Morgana.

Morfyth shot her a confused look but continued. "I wish there were men like Arthur back home. Men who don't just think about fighting and drinking and chasing women, who really appreciate the value of a good conversation. He's just so _charming_."

Morgana snorted. "Yes, his charm is simply irresistible." She supposed he did have a certain way about him when he made an effort; he had just never extended that effort in her direction.

Morgana eventually managed to foist Morfyth off on Sir Helian; it appeared she wasn't particularly fussy about whom she fell over herself for. Morgana continued her walk along by the edge of the forest and came across Arthur and Merlin.

"Isn't that Merlin's job?" she asked.

Arthur stopped chopping wood for a second, suspending his axe in mid-air. "Merlin? Near sharp objects? He's cut himself on my sword several times and that's just from carrying it."

"It's true," said Merlin, "I don't think I'm meant to be a soldier."

"If you are, then God help us all." Arthur threw the pieces of wood haphazardly over to Merlin, who attempted to catch them, failed, picked them up and put them in a small cart.

"He's dragging that lot back, though," he added. "We need to develop some upper-body strength now, don't we, Merlin?"

Merlin happily went along with it. Morgana wondered how he managed to put up with Arthur all day and still be so cheerful. He turned to rearrange the pile on the cart, humming merrily to himself.

Morgana was about to continue her walk when Arthur chucked a piece of wood particularly hard over his shoulder. It went straight towards the back of Merlin's head.

She cried out to him, but she was too far from him to push him out of the way. A sudden giddiness came over her. The log appeared to suddenly change trajectory, flying to the side and landing a few feet away from the cart.

Arthur and Merlin both turned to stare at her.

"I thought it was going to hit him," said Morgana, embarrassed.

Arthur shook his head and went back to work. Merlin continued to look at her, curious.

She had been so sure it would hit him. Then there was that feeling she had had – it reminded her of the troubled nights where she barely slept for bad dreams.

Merlin tried to catch a log but dropped it on his foot because he had not been paying attention. He hopped about in pain.

"Oh, you idiot, Merlin." Morgana thought Arthur sounded more fond than aggravated, and supposed that was progress. Perhaps some of Merlin's bashful charm would rub off on him. "If only I could sell you and buy a donkey. It would probably do a better job." Or perhaps not.

-o-

On their return from defending Ealdor, Arthur trotted alongside Morgana as they watched Gwen and Merlin chatting in front of them.

"Ah, young love," said Arthur.

"They deny everything, you know," said Morgana with a smile.

"Well, I can understand Gwen's reluctance – imagine admitting you're in love with _Merlin_."

She just shook her head and continued to smile. "Don't you hate it when someone is clearly smitten but denies it at every turn?"

"What?" He had definitely noticed how well-fitting Morgana's fighting clothes were, but he thought he had been more subtle than that.

"Oh, nothing."

Arthur let it go and went back to his usual teasing. "I thought you fought very well. You know, for a girl."

"I was just thinking the same about you. We'll have to have a rematch one of these days." They used to fight with sticks when they were younger, until Uther found out and told Morgana it was undignified for a lady – then she had moved on to duelling Arthur with a sword instead whenever she could get away with it.

-o-

Back at the castle, Morgana was putting away the weapons she'd borrowed in the armoury when one of the kitchen maids approached her.

"My lady?"

"Yes?"

"I need to thank you."

Morgana was confused. She barely recognised the woman and didn't think they had spoken before. "Thank me?"

The maid looked around as if to check they were alone, but pulled Morgana over to the corner anyway. "My son, Mordred. You harboured him and helped him to escape."

"You're his mother?" Now she saw something of a resemblance; the woman had the same jet black hair and small, watery blue eyes.

The maid nodded. "My name is Anna and I am forever indebted to you. My boy is safe now and it's all thanks to you."

"Actually, it was Arthur who-"

"Mordred told me how with your persuasion the Prince assisted as well. I have no idea how you managed to sway him, but I cannot thank you enough. I wish to repay you."

"You don't have to. I'm just glad that I could help you and that your son is well."

Anna looked around again, though no one could have been listening. "My son also tells me that you possess great magic. You have the potential to be a powerful sorceress."

"He must be mistaken; I have no magic."

"He was sure. I understand that you wish to keep it a secret, but I can help you to refine your powers. Please let me repay you."

"I told you; I have no magic, no powers, and you don't have to repay me."

Anna didn't seem to believe her, but told her that the offer would remain standing. She thanked her again profusely and left.

-o-

It was a week after Gwen's father died that the enormity hit her. A quick clean of Morgana's room and under the bed she found a button, of all things; her resolve crumbled when she remembered his proud face as he gave her that beautiful dress.

She had been working so hard, trying not to think about things, but suddenly she couldn't shove her feelings to one side any more. Every cold lonely night would repeat itself over and over, for her father would never be back; his words, his comfort and reassurance were gone forever.

Gwen sat on Morgana's bed and cried, heavily, messily and unreservedly, until her chest ached and her head hurt and she wondered if it was possible to run out of tears. Her sobs were subsiding when Arthur burst in, the door flying open to slam against the wall, and bellowed to the room at large.

"This isn't funny, Morga-" He saw Gwen and stopped in his tracks. They stared at each other awkwardly, neither knowing what to say.

"I'm sorry, my lord, she's not here," she croaked eventually.

"I can see that," he said softly. "You remember what I said before, Guinevere. Anything at all I can do to help, just name it."

No matter how Merlin complained about Arthur, he was always respectful towards Gwen, and for that she was grateful, but she needed more than respect at this moment.

"Could you find Morgana? I'd like to talk to her."

"Of course I can. I need to shout at her about stealing my crown again, anyway. You'd have thought the novelty would have worn off by now, but apparently petty larceny never gets old."

That elicited a half-smile from Gwen and as Arthur had promised, a few minutes later Morgana came in.

"Oh, Gwen." She hugged her tightly.

"Arthur found you then," said Gwen between sniffs. "I hope you gave him his crown back."

"Eventually."

"He sounded pretty annoyed."

"Believe me, I've been suitably admonished. I shan't be hiding it again until at least next week."

-o-

As soon as she heard that Arthur had recovered from his fever, Morgana came to see him.

"Arthur. You're well again."

He returned her hug with his good arm. "I'm not that easy to be rid of."

"You did kill the Questing Beast, though it nearly killed you."

"Yes, I'm still not sure how I did that. Sometimes I forget just how great I am at everything…"

"I think I may have preferred you when you were unconscious."

Arthur suddenly seemed thoughtful. "You told me not to go."

Morgana was embarrassed as she remembered running down the steps to throw herself at Arthur, shouting nonsense at him. She had really thought that he would die. "I'd had a bad dream. I wasn't well."

"You said you'd seen terrible things. What did you mean?"

"In my dream… Oh, it doesn't matter. I was hysterical."

Arthur dropped the matter. Morgana couldn't help thinking it was something of a coincidence how he had been injured so soon afterwards; but then again she had been wrong about Lady Sophia. She could do without humiliating herself over her silly dreams again.

-o-

"_Morgana…"_

Ever since Arthur had recovered from the Questing Beast's bite, Morgana had heard that voice calling her. She had thought she was imagining it but it was more frequent now.

"_Morgana the Fay…"_

Eventually she replied. It felt odd shouting back at thin air, but she couldn't stand it any more. "What is it? What do you want?"

"_Ah, you respond at last. Go to the dungeons, down deeper than you've gone before, and you shall find the beginning of your destiny."_

She still felt ridiculous following the voice in her head, but she took a torch and easily slipped past the guards. She went down as the voice had told her to and found a door, unlocked, at the bottom of the passage.

Entering and looking around, there are appeared to be no one there. She was about to go back when the dragon swooped down, causing her to scream in surprise. She made for the door.

"Do not be frightened."

She whirled around, recognising the voice. His wings beat loudly behind him and the sheer breadth of them was terrifying. "It was you," she said. "You've been speaking to me." She had known Uther had kept one dragon alive, but not where – and she had had no idea that it could speak.

The dragon perched on the large rock jutting over the chasm and furled his wings up behind him. He tilted his head to one side and regarded her. "Indeed I have. There is much I have to tell you. You are destined for great things, Morgana."

"I don't believe in destiny." The torchlight jiggled about; her hand was still shaking.

"Whether we believe in it or not we are all bound by fate."

"So you can tell me about mine, then?"

"In part. There are things we cannot know."

"Well, go on then."

The dragon smiled, if dragons could be said to smile. "You are even more impatient than Merlin in your desire for answers."

"Merlin?"

"He too has an important role to play. He is destined to serve at King Arthur's side, as his loyal companion."

Morgana found that part easy to believe, but remained sceptical of him. She could have told him months ago that Merlin and Arthur were destined to be friends for a long time yet.

"And I? Will I be at Arthur's side? What will become of me?"

She would have sworn the dragon was mocking her as he spoke. "Your fates are entwined. Whether you will be at his side is for you to determine. But your destiny is more than that."

"Why do you speak in riddles? What are these great things I am meant to do?"

"You will never discover that unless you embrace your powers."

Morgana grew even more frustrated. "I have no powers! You make no sense!"

"And what of your premonitions? Your dreams that come true?"

"How do you know of that?" The dragon didn't reply. "Not all my dreams come true. Some of them… but I don't think they're much, only coincidence…"

"Coincidence is how weak minds explain what they cannot understand. You do not believe what you say and I know it." He shook his wings out fully. "Come back when you have accepted what you know to be the truth."

He took off with a rattle of chains, leaving Morgana to puzzle over what he had said as she wandered slowly back up to her room. She had taken an instant dislike to him, but the dragons were powerful and mystical creatures, she knew that. Perhaps there was truth in what he said, perhaps not. It didn't matter, she supposed; practising magic right under Uther's nose would be a death sentence in itself. Whether her dreams were really premonitions or not, the best thing she could do would be to conceal them.

-o-

The court of Orkney were visiting for the spring tournament and Morgana had spent yet another night standing around between knights in varying degrees of heavy inebriation and ladies who batted their eyelashes pathetically at them.

She slipped out onto the balcony to find Arthur already there. "Any excuse for a banquet these days," she said.

Arthur turned round. "We need to welcome our guests with proper ceremony. And I'd say more an excuse for you to wear those silly dresses." He grinned at her. "You're very beautiful tonight."

"And you're very drunk."

He gave a lop-sided shrug. "The knights of Orkney hold dull conversation. It's as well you're here. I've been longing for a friendly annoyance all night."

She went to stand in front of him. "Well, I can certainly provide that."

"Mm. Do you ever think I don't notice that the more annoyed you are with me the more you make an effort?"

"I think your mind is more than slightly addled."

"_In vino veritas_, or something." Morgana had a strange flash back to their lessons when they were younger, when Arthur would poke her under the desk as often as he could get away with it and complain that he would never need to know Latin when he could use a sword to speak for him.

"Or something, certainly. Just don't fall under the table or make any promises you can't keep."

"Oh, you think so little of me," said Arthur, still grinning wildly at her.

"I wonder why that is. Oh, and don't start singing, please." Hadn't that been a memorable occasion, she thought.

"You know, Princess Morfyth told me I had a voice like a bell. She didn't even hear me sing."

"You remember her?"

"Of course. Very pretty," he said. Morgana raised an eyebrow. "Oh, don't worry, not a patch on your beauty, I swear. Not enough to sway my gaze, though you have to give her points for enthusiasm."

"I'm going to excuse myself and go to bed now, Arthur. Might I advise that you do the same?"

"Advise all you want."

She tried to look at him disapprovingly but only managed to smile. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, my lady," he said, reaching out clumsily to take her hand and kiss it. "Sweet dreams."


	2. Chapter 2

-o-o-

**2.**

-o-o-

Merlin was dressing Arthur in his armour as Morgana came in. She wanted to warn Arthur, but her dreams last night had been so vague and mixed up that she was not even sure if it was he who was injured in them. She did not know what good such a warning would do, in any case.

"Good morning," Arthur said with a grin. "Couldn't wait to see me?"

"I came you to wish you good luck. You'll probably need it."

"They don't call me the reigning champion for nothing, you know."

"Well, I'm just saying, there are one or two newcomers who look as if they could take you."

"She's right," said Merlin, before dodging a playful punch from Arthur. "There we go, all finished."

Morgana went to kiss Arthur on the cheek. He looked at her quizzically. "Good luck, then," she said. "Be careful."

"Don't I get a kiss?" asked Merlin.

"You're not risking your neck," said Arthur.

"Actually, if you lose, I'm not sure anyone's safe."

"He has a point," said Morgana, and gave him his kiss, smiling as Merlin blushed in surprise. She thought she saw Arthur's eyes narrowing and smiled even more.

She went to see Gaius immediately after that. He looked up from his bubbling pots and vials and peered at her over the rims of his glasses. "What is it, my dear?"

She chose her question carefully. "Do you remember when it was that my nightmares started?"

"Not exactly; it was when you were young, though. Are they getting worse again?"

"They've always been bad, but now there are more and more, most nights even. Sometimes I don't even know what it is they're about, but I wake up afraid. Have you ever come across another case like mine?"

From the way he looked at her she suspected he knew more than he would tell her. "The odd patient has suffered from terrible dreams, but they're not usually as prolonged or frequent as yours. I confess I am at quite a loss with your case."

"Do you think maybe… never mind." She did not wish to drag anyone else into her problems.

-o-

Arthur was sitting on the bed with his shirt off, showing all the injuries he had taken so far. Morgana winced just to look at them.

"Gaius?" she said. "You're needed – Sir Gilbert has taken a bad fall." He looked to his patient, concerned.

"It's all right," she told Gaius. "I'll tend to him." He left after giving Arthur something for the pain.

Morgana traced the scars on Arthur's chest. "That's a lot of war wounds," she murmured, as she cleaned the fresh ones. He could easily have been more badly hurt, though, so she was not too distressed.

"There should be more. I would be dead at least three times over if it weren't for Merlin. Who would ever have thought I'd say _that_ when I first met him?"

She nodded. "Do they each have a story?"

"Probably. I could make some up if you like."

"Let's see if I can guess." She touched her fingers to his collar bone. "That one's where I threw a candlestick holder at you and Uther had a fit."

Arthur smiled almost wistfully. "You could have waited until _after_ dinner to start hurling things at me."

"I'd only just come to Camelot. How was I to know there was a rule against assaulting the Prince when he called you a sissy?"

"You were a sissy."

"I was a little girl!"

"A sissy little girl."

She ignored the urge to slap the smugness from his face; instead she shook her head and continued to dab the cloth at the deep cut on his abdomen, though really it was clean by now.

"Are you going to bandage that?" asked Arthur eventually, with more than a little amusement.

"What? Oh, yes."

-o-

Morgana went to see the dragon again. "If I do have magic, then what should I do about it?"

"Ah, Morgana the Fay, you are ready."

"Why do you call me that?"

"One day everyone shall. Go and find Anna."

"The maid?"

"Yes. She will guide you on the road to your destiny."

"What will she do to help me? And what will you do?"

He made a cackling noise. "Oh, you are not one for obedience, are you? Always questioning." He flew off. She shouted up at him to come back, but to no benefit. She stamped her foot in frustration.

She supposed that it could not do any harm to consult Anna, though she was nervous about it. The next day she found her in the kitchens and took her back to her room, where they could speak alone. She told her all about her dreams.

"You said you wanted to help me with my… powers. What did you mean by that?"

"Though your Sight is powerful and your potential great, your talents will come to nothing if you cannot control them. You mustn't fear your power or your visions."

"How can I not fear them?" she whispered. "They always bode destruction."

"Destruction which you shall be forewarned of."

"I wake most nights with visions of my friends' deaths burned onto my eyelids. I never wished for this."

"No, but you must make the most of your gift. Let me show you, please. I need to repay you."

Morgana hesitated. If she could not rid herself of her magic then perhaps by embracing it she would be able to help her friends when they were in danger. Arthur might never again be gravely wounded if she could stop it.

"All right," she said eventually. "But no one must know."

Anna nodded. "Of course not. Now come with me."

"Now?"

"If you will not be missed."

Anna led her away from the castle and through the forest, along paths Morgana was not sure that she recognised. They came to a stop in front of an old pagan temple of some sort – she did not know much of these things. It was clearly disused; there were plants overgrowing the steps and cracks in the delicately carved stone.

"I keep a few supplies here. It's a good place for you to learn," said Anna. "It's very peaceful."

As they entered, Morgana supposed there was a certain serenity about the place, even with its crumbling columns and damaged walls, covered in strange insignia and fading murals.

Anna went over to remove a slab from the floor, revealing a small crevice packed with books, candles and herbs. She picked out some of the candles, placed them in a circle and busied herself lighting them.

"Do we need those to do magic?" asked Morgana.

"No," said Anna, "not really. But it adds to the atmosphere."

They sat on the floor inside the circle. Anna took both her hands and instructed her to close her eyes.

"You need to concentrate on the feeling you have when your visions come to you. Try to concentrate on one thing you have seen strongly, though it may be distressing."

Morgana cast her mind back to her dream of Arthur drowning. It was an old vision, one that had not come to pass, though it had given her a strong sense that it would. Arthur almost seemed peaceful as he drifted downwards, his hair floating about his face. She felt the dread she had before, but it was less intense. Sophia stood over him, her image rippling above the water. Morgana could vividly picture him sinking, surrounded by the ghostly white light.

Suddenly she was hit by the same strange, intoxicated delirium that came with her visions, as though she was there but at the same time not.

Anna's voice cut through. "That's good. Hold onto that feeling."

Morgana heard Anna mumble some words under her breath. She tried hard to concentrate.

"Hold on."

Morgana felt her skin tingling. She tried to keep the feeling of her vision but the tingling became more and more distracting, itchy and almost burning all over her. Anna muttered again.

The tingling immediately vanished to be replaced by a thick, dizzying rush that made her gasp and clutch at Anna's hands, as if the floor might fall away from beneath her at any moment. Her head was spinning, the wave of emotion from her vision multiplied by a thousand and racing through her body.

Her eyes fluttered open and abruptly it all stopped. She blinked dumbly at Anna, short of breath.

"All right?" Anna dropped one of her hands to touch her face, seeming to examine her. "You are more powerful than I had thought." Her hand lingered on Morgana's cheek.

"Was that supposed to happen?"

"Yes, although I wasn't expecting it to be so easy."

Morgana could not read her expression – perhaps she was concerned, or just confused. She was not sure whether she had liked the experience.

Anna picked up one of the candles. Somehow they had all been blown out, though Morgana did not know how. She offered it to her.

"Light it."

"I don't know how. I don't know any spells."

"Try. Concentrate and feel, as you did before."

Morgana was doubtful, but tried anyway. She thought of flames and lit candles and Arthur drowning. She stared hard at the candle. Nothing happened.

"Try closing your eyes."

She did so. After a moment she heard Anna laugh softly, and opened them again.

The flame was flickering, smoothly lighting Anna's face from underneath. But also from the side – Morgana looked around and behind her. All of the candles in the circle were lit and so were the spare ones Anna had put by the altar.

"I did that?"

"All of it." Anna put her hand on Morgana's arm and spoke earnestly. "Though I am not gifted with the Sight, I know you will surely make a mark on this world. This might seem a humble beginning, but great sorcerers have been forged from much less."

She let go and stood up. "We shall have to practice regularly, though."

Morgana rose as well. "But what was that? What made me able to do that?"

"You were always capable of doing that. Magic is about potential. It is honed by experience, but some are chosen to have more power than others. What we did was what the Druids call communing. We shared our power and it made you release what you didn't know you had."

"Communing?" Morgana had heard it spoken of, though not discussed at length. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Only for the inexperienced or those who can't control what power they wield," said Anna. "I know what I'm doing; don't be troubled."

-o-

Morgana had come across a small clearing by an impressively-sized oak tree, with a convenient log for her to sit on. She eventually found a comfortable part and looked around herself. It was months later, autumn, and the decaying leaves lay about in piles, a few scattering in the breeze. Shafts of light filtered through the canopy, bathing them in gold.

She spotted Arthur before she heard him, a flash of red amongst the trees, then his heavy footfall as he approached.

"Father's looking for you, you know." He leaned casually against the oak.

"Why do you think I'm here?"

Arthur bit his lip and was quiet.

"You've made your dress all dirty," he said eventually.

She was rather annoyed to discover that he was right; the hem was wet and mud had flicked up further from where she had trodden carelessly. She told him she didn't care, though she did.

"It's dangerous out here; you shouldn't have come out by yourself," said Arthur, still with frustrating nonchalance.

Morgana replied irritably. "So, I need a man with a sword to protect me, do I?"

"Against the potential men with swords, it would seem like a good idea." Arthur moved over to crouch in front of her and spoke calmly. "I know you don't want this, but why don't you tell Uther that rather than hiding from him and putting yourself in danger? You'll have to go back eventually."

Though Morgana wanted to take issue with the idea that she was in mortal peril every time she stepped outside by herself, she was fairly sure that was just Arthur being overprotective as usual. "It doesn't make any difference what I say to him." She looked skywards and sighed. "But perhaps I can show Sir Lorcan he doesn't want a silly wife who ruins her clothes trying to escape the inevitable."

She looked back to Arthur, who was staring at the ground, thinking of a response. She gently tilted his chin upwards.

"You don't want me to marry him either, do you?"

"No," he said a little too tenderly, then seeming to realise his mistake spoke more authoritatively. "I don't believe him worthy of a lady of your standing."

She nodded. "That's not my objection, but if you want to help, why not talk to Uther? He'll more readily listen to his son than to his disobedient ward."

"All right then – if you come back with me now I'll try to persuade him."

She gave her reluctant agreement. Arthur stood, taking her hands and pulling Morgana to her feet next to him.

"After you." He gestured but she made no move. "Morgana?"

"If it isn't him then it'll be another," she said resignedly. "That insufferable Earl or Sir Richard the Interminably Dull."

Arthur failed to suppress a chuckle.

"I'm sick of men gabbling at me about how brave and honourable they are. I tire of honourable men."

"If it helps," said Arthur, "I can assure you that I have only the basest of intentions towards you."

Morgana could never tell how much he was joking when he spoke like that, so she brushed off his comment and took his arm, beginning the short walk back to the castle.

-o-

Morgana leaned against the wall outside the throne room, listening to Arthur argue with his father. She couldn't make out much of what they were saying, but it seemed that Uther wasn't happy with the objections.

"Morgana?" Merlin was standing almost in front of her and she had barely noticed his approach. "Are you all right?"

She pulled him over a few feet, away from the guards. "Uther wants me to marry Sir Lorcan," she said quietly.

"Oh," he said. "Well, he's… not _so_ bad…"

Poor Merlin wasn't able to speak ill of anyone, thought Morgana. "He's not my type. But Uther won't listen to me, so Arthur's trying to persuade him that marrying me off to someone I can't stand wouldn't be his best decision."

-o-

"Sir Lorcan is a good and noble man, he has a fine share of land, and he is completely infatuated with Morgana," said Uther. "I can't see that I would easily find any better for her. I am beginning to think that his lack of suitability is not your main objection."

"I don't know what you're saying, Father," said Arthur, though he was fairly sure.

"I realise that you reserve a certain fondness for Morgana, and I would very much approve of the match, but if you will insist on not following through then you leave me with no choice but to select another suitor."

Arthur was a little thrown, but decided on a plan. "Ah, I see. You have it all wrong. While I harbour no feelings for Morgana in that respect, she… well, to be frank, she's completely besotted with me and at the moment she will hardly contemplate taking a husband."

Uther leant forward, attentive. "Really? Are you sure?"

Arthur nodded solemnly. "Yes, it's very sweet actually."

The king considered. "But if you do not return her affections-"

"Well, I wouldn't be so hasty," said Arthur. "Something could… easily develop. Perhaps we should wait…"

Uther nodded slowly. "You may be right. I love Morgana as I would a daughter, and it would certainly be to our advantage to keep the lands that are in her name."

"That was just was what I was thinking."

Morgana rushed up to Arthur as he came out. Merlin hung around awkwardly behind her.

"Well? What did he say?"

Arthur noted her desperate expression and took a few moments to make 'hm' and 'er' noises.

"What? Tell me!"

"On the up side, you shan't have to marry Lorcan."

"Oh, thank you!" Morgana hugged him.

"On the down side, you may have to pretend to be in love with me for a while."

She let go and stared at him. "What?"

"I convinced the king that there might be a much more advantageous marriage in store." He held his hand to his heart. "If _only_ I could start to feel the same way." He smirked. "It was all I could do to persuade him. Of course, you'll need to keep up the pretence."

Morgana gaped at him.

Arthur glanced over at Merlin for a second before sauntering off and calling out behind him, his words echoing down the corridor.

"I win…"

-o-

The dragon perched and observed Morgana with something like amusement.

"…and now that Uther has _finally_ stopped trying to marry me off to any noble fool with half an acre of land to his name, I have to go swooning over Arthur every few minutes or he'll start up again!" She paused. "What I mean to say is… if you know so much about my destiny, then please tell me."

He tilted his head at her in that infuriating way of his.

"Am I supposed to stay and be Queen? That's what the people expect of me. But then I could hardly hide my magic while married to Arthur… or anyone, for that matter."

"I think you may have answered your own question," was all he would say.

-o-

Anna had taken to teaching or communing with Morgana every couple of weeks, whenever they could be sure it was safe. She took Morgana's hands as usual but this time told her to keep her eyes open.

Morgana's brow furrowed in concentration and Anna smiled as her eyes turned to a beautiful liquid gold in front of her. Morgana was so stunning and fresh-faced and wonderfully delicate that it made Anna want to cry sometimes.

She could have chosen to help Merlin instead – she knew his part in Mordred's escape – but he seemed confident, more so than Morgana, who was almost afraid of using her abilities. The poor girl needed guidance and Anna was more than happy to give it. She had taken the post in the castle for that very purpose.

Morgana was leaving, thanking Anna and giving her a tentative hug, when she asked whether she had the Sight too.

"No," she said, "I only see what is."

"Can the future be altered? Will my visions always happen as I see them?"

"You ask difficult questions. I think you'll have to seek advice from someone more knowledgeable, I'm afraid." She kissed Morgana's cheek. "I really hope you find your answers."

-o-

The dragon was typically unhelpful in settling Morgana's concerns. "Your visions show the future as it shall be. But you can choose your own path. Your decisions are still yours."

"So fate is meaningless, then."

He chortled. "Though men struggle against their destiny, they are trapped like insects in a web. You will become known as Morgana the Fay, Merlin will serve at Arthur's side…"

"And when I dream of Arthur dead?"

"Then he shall be dead. But he shall return when there is need of him." He yawned, the sound reverberating around the cavern.

"What do you mean by that?"

The dragon ignored her questioning, as was his wont. "How is your training with Anna?"

"Fine. What do you mean, Arthur will return?"

"You will learn in the fullness of time. I hope you are hiding your endeavours in magic from the King."

"It would be beyond foolish not to."

"He is wholly intolerant – despite the promise to your father I doubt he would flinch before condemning you." He smirked in a way that made her uncomfortable and flew away before she could ask him more.

-o-

Arthur poked his head round Morgana's door. "It's snowing," he said, his face lit up as if this were the most exciting thing to happen all year.

"I know."

"Well, come on then." He practically dragged her outside. Gwen and Merlin were running around with a few other servants on the opposite side of the field, merrily pelting each other with snow.

"Arthur, don't you think we're a little old for all this?"

His reply was to throw a snowball at her chest and soon she was chasing after him. He tripped up and fell headfirst into a deep pile of snow. She leapt on him.

He struggled to get up. "Argh, Morga- what?" She had suddenly stopped grinding handfuls of snow into his hair and instead was stroking her fingers through it affectionately.

She nodded over to where Uther was watching them from the window. "You brought this on yourself," she said through a fixed smile.

"Ah, yes," he said, rather more proudly than she would have expected. "I suppose I did."


	3. Chapter 3

-o-o-

**3.**

-o-o-

On one occasion Anna informed Morgana that they were not going to the temple this time.

"Where are we going, then?" she asked as Anna took her hand and guided her through dark patches of the forest.

"To my coven."

"Your coven? Where you meet up and practice magic?"

Anna laughed pleasantly. "Not exactly. It's only a coven by name, really - the Hestian Coven, ours – but the one where I live is more of a haven for those who don't want to fight against the King but don't want to be found out either." She turned to Morgana, who was following behind her, and spoke solemnly. "I trust you. Please promise me you won't tell anyone of its location, or even that it exists."

"I promise, of course not."

They continued through the trees until they came to a vast face of greenish-black rock. "Here we are."

Morgana blinked. There was still nothing there.

Anna splayed her hand flat against the surface and uttered a spell. Morgana watched with amazement as the veins of rock shifted beneath her hand to form a small door.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Anna beamed at her. "Wait till you get inside!"

She took Morgana's hand again and they entered together. As of yet it was unremarkable: a long, dank, downwards-sloping passageway lit by mounted torches on either side. It reminded Morgana of the dungeons and tunnels below the castle. They progressed downwards and at the bottom they turned to the right. Morgana's jaw dropped.

The passage flared out into a massive cavern, as much as two hundred feet wide and extending backwards she knew not how far. Little cottages lay here and there against the walls, almost in rows, giving the place the appearance of a slightly warped underground street.

"The ceiling's only a few feet from the ground," said Anna as Morgana stared upwards in awe. "The smoke from the houses goes right up…" She kept on talking, explaining things, but Morgana was completely absorbed by the sights around her.

A few men and women came to greet Anna but regarded her companion with suspicion. Morgana drew her plain red cloak further over her conspicuously fine dress and followed Anna towards her house. They stopped again to talk to another man, this time old and grey.

"Laurence is the name," he told her, greeting her with a hearty handshake. "And this is my son, Accolon," he said proudly.

Accolon was a short, bearded man, a few years older than Morgana she thought. He chatted politely with them until his father announced that they "must be letting these pretty girls be on their way."

They came to Anna's house. "Don't worry about the stomping noises upstairs," she said. "Little boys can be very loud."

Morgana stayed for a few hours then realised it was late and she should be getting back. Anna walked her back to the coven's entrance and told her how to open it.

"If you ever need somewhere safe, you're always welcome to stay with me," she said earnestly.

Halfway back, in the middle of the forest, the heavens opened up and Morgana found herself running through wet leaves and slippery mud to avoid getting soaked to the skin.

-o-

Arthur was walking back to the castle that evening, cursing the heavy rain, when he heard a rustling noise that caused him to turn round and draw his sword. He saw nothing out of the ordinary and was about to continue on his way when he heard a voice.

"Over here, Arthur." There stood an unfamiliar blond woman of near-preternatural beauty, dressed in rich green silks. She did not appear at all troubled by the rain beating down on them; in fact she appeared curiously dry. "Hello. I'm Lillian. Nice to meet you."

Bewildered, he asked what she wanted.

"I'd prefer it if we could talk without you sticking that thing in my face." Arthur lowered his sword. "That's better, don't you think? Anyway, to business."

"And what is your business?"

"I was getting to that. I suppose first of all you must understand that I can see into the future, centuries ahead even… oh, don't go trying to arrest me; I'll be gone before you can blink or shout 'witch!' at me. Witches and Seers aren't the same anyway, it just so happens that I'm both… but I digress. I've seen that for things to pan out the way we want them to – you me both – there's something important that you need to know."

"And what's that?" All the while Arthur had been quiet, realising that his training would be no use against her magic if she wished to harm him.

"Have you never thought to yourself, 'Well, I wonder why it is that my father hates magic quite as much as he does? The odd healing spell here and there, who does it hurt?'"

"Twenty or so years ago this kingdom was filled with the most malevolent-"

"There you go, spouting your lines, everything that's been drilled into your head all this time. That's not it at all. You see, your father, like all kings, desperately wanted a son, an heir to his realm. But none came, so in his desperation he turned to magic. Or, more specifically, to a charming sorceress called Nimueh. Using her magic, she allowed Igraine to carry what would become the strapping young man I see before me."

"So magic granted him the son he wan-"

"Don't interrupt, I hadn't got to the end," said Lillian. "Of course, magic like all nature has certain rules behind it. One of the central tenets, if you will, is that magic cannot give life without there being life taken. Have you worked it out yet?"

Arthur looked at her uncertainly, an expression of horror slowly dawning on his face as it all started to make a terrible sort of sense. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"I suppose you don't really. But it is quite the coincidence that Igraine dies in childbirth and straight afterwards Uther develops a hatred of all magic great and small, isn't it? Poor Nimueh was in over her head at that point, dabbling too far beyond her knowledge, and she had no idea what would happen to Igraine. Perhaps if Uther had picked a more experienced sorceress – but that's hindsight for you."

"My mother died because of magic," said Arthur, not as a question.

"Many women die in childbirth, Arthur. Her death was not so out of the ordinary."

Lightning cracked across the sky. Arthur blinked repeatedly to remove the bright afterimage, the strangely hunched-looking silhouette of the woman who stood tall before him.

"Why is it so important that I know this, then?" he asked.

"Uther's reaction was out of proportion, perhaps, but as his son that he unwittingly sacrificed his wife for, I imagine you have a duty to follow his lead, at least while he lives. You have to understand that while some magic is harmless, if young and easily influenced minds are swayed too far by others it might be especially dangerous. The Lady Morgana who you love so much-"

"She doesn't practice magic."

"I'm not convinced you're listening to me. There are those who would corrupt her. See to it that they don't. Goodbye, Arthur."

"Wait-"

"We'll meet again." Lillian gave him an odd, twisted smile and disappeared.

-o-

Morgana managed to sneak up to her chambers without anyone questioning her. When she arrived, Gwen was waiting.

"There you are. I was getting worried," said Gwen, taking in her bedraggled appearance and frowning.

"I went for a walk. I must have got lost."

Gwen helped her to get dry. "Where were you walking? These look beyond saving," she said, holding up the brown pair of shoes which were previously chalk-white.

"In the forest. And those were old anyhow, you can throw them away."

"Arthur would have a fit if he knew you were in the forest by yourself after dark."

"It's not quite dark yet." She sighed. "I wish he would stop fussing all the time as if I were some helpless little girl."

"I think it's nice that he cares about you so much," said Gwen. She picked a leaf out of Morgana's hair.

"Or cares that Uther will be fury incarnate if he lets me get hurt."

"He would never let you get hurt. Arthur's ridiculously fond of you and you both know it." Her hand flew to her mouth and she was about to take it back but Morgana smiled at her.

"You think so?"

"Everyone thinks so."

"Is there some gossip you haven't told me about?" Usually Gwen told her all of the stories that spread amongst the castle staff but not generally to their masters, however trivial they turned out to be.

"Well, you have been all over him recently… Not that I don't understand why," she added hastily, "but most people don't know that you're pretending. And Arthur doesn't seem to mind, exactly."

"I suppose so," said Morgana, not mentioning that sometimes she forgot she was pretending.

"You could probably… tone it down. Unless you don't want to…"

"I'm sure I don't know _what_ you're implying." Gwen managed a slightly embarrassed smile and Morgana laughed loudly.

-o-

Arthur tugged on the end of Morgana's plait and she tried to bat him off with one hand.

"Why are you in such a bad mood?" he asked.

"Why are you?"

"These stupid uprisings - nothing to do with magic for once, apparently. Everything to do with taxes. Extra patrols, curfew…"

"Fascinating," she said. "Well, because you'll be otherwise occupied, I have to go to Mercia next week by myself."

"Not actually by yourself."

"No, but without you." He grinned and she added: "Who else can I laugh at constantly? It won't be the same."

"It is unfortunate you'll pretty much be representing Camelot by yourself. Don't go saying anything stupid. Really, I think it would be best if you didn't say anything at all." He pulled on her plait again and she gave him a mock glare as he left.

-o-

_She's standing in front of him but she's not really there. Arthur's blurry form cowers before her, groaning in pain as his blood trickles along the ground, pooling by feet which are not really hers. She hears shouts behind her and turns as someone runs towards them. Arthur collapses completely and she struggles to move but can only watch him die._

Morgana woke, shivering and terrified.

She threw off her covers and with no time to light a candle fumbled through the darkened room for the door. She hurried along the empty corridors to Arthur's chambers, knocking loudly when she arrived. There was no answer.

"Arthur?" Morgana knocked again and heard a groan. She went inside.

The grey light of dawn through the windows illuminated the room enough that she could see Arthur, in a nightshirt and ill-fitting trousers, rising from the bed. He appeared mercifully uninjured.

"Are you all right?" she asked, stepping forwards and closing the door behind her.

"Why would I not be?" His voice was hoarse from sleep.

"You didn't answer."

She saw the figure wave his hands about, presumably in exasperation. "I was sleeping – as most people tend to at night."

Morgana felt very awkward, barging in and now standing in his room in only her nightclothes. She was still shaken from her dream. "I… was worried," she said sheepishly.

He went over to her; now she could dimly make out his face it provided some relief to her mind. "Was it another nightmare?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice cracking. "It seemed so real." Most of her dreams seemed incredibly real recently, but this one had a weight of immediate urgency and a clear-cut focus that they usually lacked.

Arthur silently wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest. Morgana gave an involuntary shudder as his scent pulled her mind back to the vision of him lying in pain. He tugged her closer.

She could feel her heart racing against her ribs. Arthur muttered meaningless reassurances and stroked her hair as she tried to calm down. Eventually she was still and quiet in his arms, her head tucked under his chin.

"Did you take the sleeping draught?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, muffled against his chest.

"Perhaps we can ask Gaius to make something stronger for you. This is worrying."

She looked up at him, a little panicked that he should take interest in her visions. "You needn't be concerned. I'll try not to wake you up like this again – I'm sorry."

Arthur carefully stroked her cheek. "I'll always be concerned for you, whether you like it or not."

The shadowy light made his features seem stronger than before and, perhaps because she was drowsy, a little nobler. Without thinking she placed a soft kiss on his lips.

They both looked at each other, though in the darkness it was difficult to read the other's expression. Arthur made no attempt to let go of her.

"Sorry," she breathed, "I shouldn't…" She moved her head away as he leaned in again, drawing her closer.

"Morgana," he said, coaxingly, "I only want to kiss you again." She let him do so and clasped her hands around his neck. "Nothing more," he murmured, "Not yet."

"Not yet?" At that, she struggled out of his arms and almost backed into the wall.

Arthur paused, then spoke hesitantly. "I thought I'd made it clear to you before now. I want to marry you, one day at least. Don't you want us to be married?"

Morgana let the question hang in the air for a few moments. In Arthur's own obtuse way he probably did think he had made it clear, but he certainly hadn't.

"I would rather marry you than any other man," she said eventually.

"That's not what I asked. I thought…" He stared at the floor.

Morgana wanted desperately to comfort Arthur as he had her and let him hold her again, but she told herself that would be a bad idea.

"I don't want to marry anyone," she said.

He looked up. "And then what will you do instead?"

"I shan't let any man rule over me."

"You think that I would do that?"

"I think as King of Camelot you would have to."

"Morgana…" He made to touch her again but she moved away lest she lost her conviction.

"You need a good patient wife who will bend to your will. I am… not the bending sort." That at least was the truth. She had had doubts about being Queen for a long time, and not just because she used to find Arthur arrogant and annoying.

"I need a wife who will challenge me."

"We both know that's not how it works, Arthur."

He gave up arguing. "I want you," he said petulantly. "No one else."

Though her heart ached to go to him, she decided to leave. "You think so now, but you'll find another," she said as she opened the door.

"I will have you," she heard him say as it closed behind her.

Morgana went straight back to bed, though she lay awake for a long time in thought. When she finally slept she saw eager hands and loving words and rumpled sheets, though this time she was sure it was only a dream.


	4. Chapter 4

-o-o-

**4.**

-o-o-

Morgana thought of trying to avoid Arthur, but it was fairly inevitable that she should have to talk to him again. They passed each other in the corridor that morning and both stopped, glancing at each other uncomfortably. She could not think how to stand or what to do with her hands.

He shifted self-consciously. "I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have been so…" He waved his hand in a nondescript fashion.

She settled on clasping her hands in front of her. "You don't need to apologise."

"Good," he said in a small voice. "I meant what I told you, even if I shouldn't have sprung it on you like that." He swallowed and bit his lip; it was disarmingly adorable. Arthur had that resigned expression on his face she'd only glimpsed now and then, when he wasn't trying to prove himself or showing off or being cocky, just looking like a lost little boy with too many hopes pinned on him. How could she deny him anything when he looked at her like that?

"Yes," she said suddenly and loudly.

He frowned at her and she realised he hadn't asked her anything at that moment. She was about to clarify, but her senses came back to her.

"Yes, perhaps… you should have said it differently, but I'm afraid my answer would have been the same."

His face fell further, if that was possible. He simply nodded at her.

Morgana awkwardly told him she had to go, but he stopped her. "You should ask Gaius about that sleeping draught. I really was worried, you know."

"I'll make sure to do that," she said, though she knew she wouldn't. But that sort of lie seemed so small these days.

-o-

"You're distracted," Anna told her that evening. "What is it?"

"I…" Morgana wondered what Anna would make of the whole thing – not that it mattered now that she'd made up her mind. "Arthur wants me to marry him."

"Oh."

"I've said I can't." She was half-hoping for some reassurance that she'd made the right decision, but none came.

"But you care for him a great deal."

"Of course," said Morgana. "I can't help wanting to marry him, though I know I could hardly carry on learning to use magic at the same time."

"I don't envy your position," Anna said before continuing her instruction.

An hour or so later, Morgana bade her goodbye and made her way back. Once again it was dark by the time she approached the castle. It was a clear night; she saw Arthur from a distance and almost managed to avoid him.

"You shouldn't be out by yourself, Morgana. It's late." She was surprised that he did not reprimand her more severely. There was a curfew, though the revolts had died down, and Arthur was still patrolling at night.

"I can see that. I was just out for a walk, looking at the stars."

Morgana could hear him accusing her of being soppy and girly in her head, but the Arthur in front of her simply told her to get back quickly. He seemed inordinately sad. "You have an early start tomorrow." She had almost forgotten that she was heading out to Mercia in the morning.

"How are you, Arthur?" she asked all of a sudden.

"What?" Now he sounded annoyed; she wasn't sure if that was an improvement on melancholy.

"I… nothing." She wanted to ask how he was taking her rejection, but couldn't find a way to say it.

"I'm fine," said Arthur. "You should get yourself to bed."

He was beautiful with the moonlight playing across his face. Morgana wanted to give him a goodnight kiss or at least a friendly hug, but that would probably be cruel. Instead she shivered violently on purpose; as she had predicted, Arthur hastily offered her his cloak. She draped it over her shoulders and thanked him. It was good to know that though every time she looked at him he seemed older and wiser by an age, he was still wrapped round her little finger. Morgana smiled to herself as she wandered back to her room, clutching at the cloak that smelt of Arthur.

-o-

"You're very quiet," said Gwen as they settled Morgana into her room the next night.

"Arthur asked me to marry him," said Morgana abruptly. She should probably have told Gwen earlier and she needed someone to agree with her decision.

Gwen looked her expectantly. "And…?"

"I said no."

"Okay."

"Do you think I should have said yes?"

Gwen put her hand on her shoulder. "If you don't want to marry him, don't feel you have to." That was not the problem at all, but her kindness was appreciated. She was such a good and compassionate soul.

"I do want to." Gwen seemed confused, but there was no explaining herself further without revealing her magic. "I think I might tell him so when we get back. I don't know."

Her maid nodded in bemused concern and went back to unpacking Morgana's things. They had grown apart recently, which saddened Morgana, but she had to lie to Gwen and be secretive for both their sakes. She wished she could find some way to connect with her again.

She lay awake for the third night in a row. Now that she thought about it, the only reason she had not to marry Arthur was the dragon's unspoken warning that it was not supposed to happen, and if it were really dangerous he would surely have been more explicit, little though it was in his nature.

Arthur was brave and handsome and she was loath to admit it, but she did care for him more than anyone else. He had a brother's loyalty and a new lover's adoration for her. Her magic was not exactly necessary, useful though it might be. She could put it to one side until Arthur was King and the law was more lenient, as she was doubtless it would be. She would tell him yes, destiny be damned.

Having resolved things in her drowsy mind, she finally managed to sleep.

-o-

Arthur wished he could stop thinking about Morgana. He had a task in hand, a job to do, his duty, but he could not bring himself to do it while her face hung in his mind. The worst part was that her excuses seemed so flimsy. She had been so mellow in his arms, had been the one to kiss him even, and there was that endearing way she blushed a little sometimes without realising it when he teased her, all the while denying she felt anything for him.

Perhaps she truly didn't. Arthur told himself that was probably the case, as he directed his men to follow the kitchen maid whom he had seen talking with Morgana on several occasions. His father had informed him that the woman was suspected of witchcraft, and obsessed though the King was he was not one to accuse without evidence, so Arthur had followed her yesterday. He had seen her carrying out enchantments and while they were most likely harmless, the law was the law. There was also Lillian's vague and slightly contradictory advice to keep Morgana away from these things, and he truly was worried for her – if she kept on challenging Uther something terrible might happen, and even the possibility pained him. His father had told him repeatedly never to trust a sorceress but in this case she was probably right.

They came to the old derelict temple, which he had half-forgotten was even there until yesterday. Arthur took a deep breath and gave the order.

-o-

Morgana urged the horse onwards. She could still see the vision in her mind's eye, could smell the ash and hear Anna's tortured screams. There was the dark-haired boy, there the fatal wound, and there his blood, red and glistening, marking the pale white stone of the temple floor.

She rode for hours, stopping to ask for directions more than once and wishing she had paid more attention on the way out. Upon reaching the castle she rushed to talk to Gaius and Merlin, but could not find either of them. She headed frantically for Arthur's room.

Arthur stood up as she entered. "Morgana? What are you doing here?"

"I rode straight back. Something dreadful's going to happen and soon."

"What are you talking about?" he asked with disdain. "Is this one of your _feelings_ agai-"

She clapped her hand over his mouth. "There's something I have to tell you, Arthur, and you're going to have to listen and _then_ say whatever you have to."

Arthur nodded, looking at her as if she were mad, which she could hardly fault him for.

Morgana let go of him. "I see things that will happen before they do. I saw you dying because of the Questing Beast. I saw you injured so many times before I could have known about it…"

"Your dreams," he said, his expression unreadable.

"Yes. Last night I saw… that kitchen maid, Anna…"

"She's in the dungeons this very moment," said Arthur quietly.

"For witchcraft?"

"Yes."

She looked at him imploringly. "We have to help her."

"She's guilty; she said so herself."

"But she's done no harm!"

Arthur seemed uncomfortable. "She broke the law." Morgana had known he would be unwilling to help, but persevered anyway.

"The law that would have me executed too."

He faltered. "You can't help your dreams. She knowingly practised witchcraft."

Morgana didn't attempt to correct him. "You remember Mordred?"

"The druid boy?"

"He's her son. I think I saw him too last night, I think…"

"He's dead," said Arthur simply.

"What?" Morgana felt a terrible wave of sickness; her vision flashed before her eyes again. The little boy, stabbed, bleeding heavily and Anna tied up… the smell of burning flesh… Arthur's voice cut through.

"Anna's son tried to prevent her arrest-"

"We have to go, Arthur, we have to save her." Her voice cracked. "What if it were me, Arthur?"

He stared at her. Oh, she was shameless, she thought, but she had to convince him and quickly. "Don't do this to me," he said.

"If it were me-"

"If it were you I would go to the ends of the Earth and you know it. But I cannot challenge my father in this, and he will not be moved."

"Fine then, I shall rescue her myself!" Morgana made to storm out but Arthur stepped in front of the door to block her path.

"You've already run back from Mercia, without excusing yourself if I know you at all. If my father finds out he'll arrest you."

"Then let him! I cannot sit and wait while Anna dies!"

Arthur looked at her sadly. "You're too late anyway. They'll surely be taking her out by now."

She gave up trying to reason with him and attempted to push him out of the way, but they weren't twelve any more and he easily grabbed her wrists.

"Morgana, listen," he whispered urgently as she continued to struggle. "When I am king these laws will change, but for now what my father says goes and if you defy him again I am not sure he will hesitate before executing you too."

"Is it worth living in this place where innocents are slaughtered for the King's paranoia? What have we become if we stand by and watch?"

Arthur shook his head, seemingly ashamed but not letting her go. An idea suddenly came to her. She stepped back and he released her arms.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"What?"

She concentrated and brought back the memories of her visions, of communing with Anna. The rush of magic washed over her and it was enough to push Arthur over and away from the door.

Morgana raced down the corridor, almost tripping over her skirts, her heart pounding, but guards at the corner waylaid her.

"I have to go!" she protested.

"My lady, King Uther requests your immediate presence."

"Well you'll have to tell him I'll speak to him later."

The guard shook his head. "We have orders for your arrest should you refuse to comply."

-o-

Uther sat on his throne and drummed his fingers on the armrest. "Ah, the renegade is retrieved," he said and straightened his posture as Morgana came reluctantly into the room, restrained by the guards. "I expect you must have a very good explanation for abandoning your hosts with nary a word to them."

"I told Gwen-"

"And the diligence of your maidservant is the only reason I was informed of your decision, though I am at a loss to the reason behind it. Was the food in Mercia not to your liking?" He was in a temper already, but Morgana pushed ahead.

"The maid Anna. You're going to execute her."

"How did you hear about this?" She didn't answer him. "You know the punishment for witchcraft."

"She has hurt no one."

"I don't know why you continue to challenge me on these points, Morgana, but the witch has already been put to death."

Morgana stared at him, speechless.

"Is that why you came back?"

Morgana gaped at him disbelievingly. How he could be so dispassionate? "That _witch_ was my friend and a loyal servant to Camelot. What did she do to hurt you or your subjects? How do you not see-"

Uther rose to speak. "Enough!"

"Take her back to her chambers," he told the guards. "We shall speak again when you've calmed down," he said to Morgana. "Hysterics are not conducive to discussion. I shall expect you to issue a formal apology to the court of Mercia."

He dismissed them with a wave of his hand and Morgana was marched back to her room.

-o-

"It's me," Arthur called softly through Morgana's door. Receiving no reply, he went in anyway.

Morgana was sitting on her bed, staring straight forwards. Her mouth was slightly open and tears rolled slowly down her cheeks as she made no attempt to brush them away. She did not even turn her head as he shut the door and sat next to her.

"She was your friend, wasn't she?" he asked. She continued to stare at the wall. "Did she teach you to do that, the…"

He decided it wasn't important. "I'm sorry. I shan't tell anyone about you though, I promise. Not about your dreams or whatever it was you did to me. Not a word."

She finally turned to look at him. Her eyes were puffy. Her voice hitched as whispered her thanks.

He pulled her into his arms and she rested her head against the cords of his jacket. He kissed the top of her head.

"I see it every time I close my eyes," she said. "I can see her face, feel the heat from the flames…"

Arthur could hardly imagine how she felt, but the thought of anything like that happening to Morgana was enough to make him squeeze her more tightly against him.

She looked up at him, eyes lost and staring. "It's too much," she said hoarsely, and Arthur's heart broke just to look at her.

-o-

Gwen arrived back from Mercia early the next morning with the rest of the party. She had sent a messenger immediately after Morgana had babbled at her about horrific dreams and left with little explanation.

She vaguely pondered whether this had really been the best course of action as she went to attend to Morgana. Apparently the poor girl had been in hysterics over Anna's execution. Gwen had not known the maid well, but she understood that Morgana had been good friends with her.

Merlin met Gwen on the stairs and gave her a weak smile.

"Did you know her?" she asked him, thinking it was obvious whom she was referring to.

"No, but… how many more, Gwen?"

She clasped his hand in both of hers. "I have to go and see to the Lady Morgana now, but we'll talk later." She kissed his cheek and carried on upstairs.

She found the room half-stripped of belongings. Morgana was nowhere to be found.


	5. Chapter 5

-o-o-

**5.**

-o-o-

Merlin stood outside Arthur's door, wondering whether to knock. He could hear him pacing back and forth and that was never a good thing. Merlin could deal with an obnoxious Arthur, but this was something else. It might be best for him to be left to himself.

"I can hear you out there, you know."

Merlin entered nervously. Arthur was by the window. His eyes were reddened – whether from crying or lack of sleep it was hard to tell.

"You're late," said Arthur. "Perhaps I should start commenting when you're on time." The words were in the same jovial tone as usual, but his heart obviously wasn't in them. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Merlin shuffled his feet. "I wanted to know if you're all right, sire."

"I shan't be if you don't get a move on – and 'sire'? When did you learn to be respectful?"

"I was just wondering. After what happened to Anna and then…" Merlin sensed he was treading dangerously as Arthur visibly tensed up. "If there's anything I could do…"

"You can do your duties for a start."

"Arthur-"

"I'm fine, Merlin. Now get on with tidying things up. I'm going for a walk." He strode out, leaving Merlin to put his things in order.

Merlin had not really expected Arthur to confide in him, but he supposed it had been worth a try. He missed Morgana too, but he imagined she would come back in not such a long time. She had only been gone for a couple of days and he knew that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Arthur was probably blaming himself by some distorted logic, though, and he had always been protective of Morgana, even before he started noticing just how he felt about her, which – Merlin would have liked people to know for every time Arthur had called him a dunderhead - was long after everyone else did.

Merlin shook the thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the task in hand. He groaned as he noticed quite what a mess Arthur had left the place in.

-o-

Arthur wandered aimlessly down a corridor and saw Gwen sitting on a window-casing, staring into space.

"Gwen? Might I sit here?"

She looked a bit flustered at being asked for her permission, but moved over to make room for him.

"You miss her too," said Arthur as he sat down.

"Of course," said Gwen, fiddling with her dress. "I don't know what I shall do now."

"If you want to stay here, it would be easy to find you another position." If he couldn't take care of Morgana at this moment, he could at least make sure Gwen was well. Morgana would be happy to know that she was being cared for.

"I'd like that, sire, if it would not inconvenience you."

He smiled charmingly at her. "Sometimes, Gwen, to be happy you may have to inconvenience other people. I'd like you to stay," he added seriously.

Gwen was quiet.

"What would you like to do?"

"I don't mind." She looked at him shyly.

He grinned. "Go on, Guinevere. Inconvenience me."

She seemed a little more at ease now. "I always wanted to be a stable boy. I mean, I like horses, except I'm… not a boy."

"I'd noticed." He hopped off the frame and stood in front of her. "You can be our first stable girl. I'll see if I can't get things sorted out by tomorrow."

"Thank you, sire," said Gwen and smiled.

Arthur felt the ache inside him ebb away slightly, and wondered what he could do to make her smile like that again.

"Make sure you have some tough work boots," he said as he backed off down the corridor. "Merlin tells me mucking out stables isn't nearly as pleasant as I make it sound."

Gwen frowned. "It doesn't sound at all pleasant."

"Oh, it does when I send him down there pretending it's the grooming they need help with."

-o-

On the second evening as a stable girl, Gwen was leading the last horse back in from the fields when Arthur came up to her.

"Do you need a horse, my lord?" she asked, stopping.

"No, I just wanted to talk to you, check you're all right. You're happy doing this?"

"Very happy."

He smiled. "Nice trousers."

Gwen suddenly felt embarrassed as she looked down and remembered how filthy her clothes were. "I realised very quickly that long skirts weren't really suited to the job."

Arthur nodded. He pulled out a sugar cube and fed it to the horse.

She reprimanded him fondly. "Poppy's on a diet. She's getting podgy." Gwen patted the horse's side.

He shrugged. "We don't use her enough any more. How about I take her for a ride now, give her a bit of exercise?"

"Certainly. I'll just get you a saddle…"

She gaped at him as he climbed onto the horse bareback.

"What? It's only for a little while." He held out his hand to her. "Come on."

Gwen was startled and shook her head more energetically than was called for. "No, no, I couldn't."

"Why not? Come on Gwen, it'll be fun."

There wasn't any work she had to do at the moment. She looked around herself as if someone could be watching. "Oh, all right then."

Arthur helped her up to sit in front of him. "I don't have the plague, you know," he said as she shuffled forward as far as possible.

"You'll get your clothes muddy."

He put his arm around her and pulled her against him. "We have to give Merlin _something_ to keep him out of trouble."

-o-

"Arthur?" Merlin shook him awake the next morning. Arthur tried to hit him with a pillow. "Your father needs to speak to you right away."

Arthur followed his usual morning routine of grumbling loudly and insulting Merlin's intelligence as Merlin found him some clothes. "What's this all about, anyway? Do you know?"

Merlin licked his lips anxiously.

"Come on, spit it out."

"I'm not sure, but the word is they've found Morgana."

Arthur's eyes grew wide and he scrambled to get dressed.

When he reached the throne room Uther informed him that Morgana had been seen that morning in the forest. "Gillimore will show you the place." Arthur agreed to set out immediately.

"Arthur," said the King, "let her know she shall be forgiven everything if she will only return. Bring her back safely."

"Of course," he said. He left with a few of his knights and a nervous hope that they would find Morgana.

"It was quite near here, my lord," said Sir Gillimore. Arthur nodded and looked about. Except for the steep hill ahead of them there was nothing much to distinguish this patch of forest from any other. He lead his men around the hill. As the foliage got thicker the forest became so dark that Arthur could barely the outline his steed's head in front of him. He continued for a few minutes but found no trace of anyone.

Arthur turned to direct his men further, but they were out of his sight. Confused, he rode back a little way, wondering how he could have lost them. Suddenly a familiar voice pierced his thoughts.

"As observant as ever, I see." Morgana was standing a few feet away in a plain dress, with her hair cut shorter than before and a wide smile on her face.

"Morgana!" Arthur wasted no time in dismounting and rushing over to her. He hugged her tightly. "You're safe."

She returned his embrace. "Where have you been all this time?" he asked.

"Oh, here and there. You might want to tie up your horse," she said, peering behind him.

He went to take the reins in one hand and wandered back over. He frowned at her in concern. "I hope you're all right."

"I've been worse."

Arthur placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "It's not the same without you."

"I thought that might be the case. That's why I employed some misdirection to set up our little rendezvous."

"Oh, so you haven't missed me at all?"

"I do sometimes think 'oh, if only there were someone around to aggravate me constantly…'"

"I am very good at that."

They were quiet for a moment before he spoke again, serious. "My father wants you to return." Off her disbelieving face he added: "I know you won't. But I want you to know that he would have welcomed you back. And I…" He pushed his hand through his hair. "I wouldn't mind it either."

"I can't, Arthur. I can only conceal my magic for so long. I was already cutting things fine. But I don't want us to be strangers."

"I will see you again then?"

"Of course. I'll visit you."

"And might I visit you?"

"I don't think the people that I'm staying with would take well to me bringing Uther's son to their door."

"Oh." Arthur suddenly felt awkward. "Well, at least I can tell Gwen and Merlin that you're safe. Do you want me to tell my father? There were search parties-"

"I know, I avoided a few myself. Tell Uther I'm safe but I'm not coming back, not if he puts me in chains and drags me. I can't stay at Camelot any longer, but he might as well stop searching."

"I understand."

When Arthur returned to the castle, the King asked him what had happened. He considered.

"We found nothing," he said.

"I suppose we can only keep on searching; we have to find Morgana at any cost," said Uther despondently.

"I suppose so," said Arthur, silently cursing himself over and over for being so selfish.

-o-

Accolon watched Morgana across the table as they ate their evening meal. She was a strange girl, he thought; though certainly very pleasant when required, she was quiet and kept herself to herself. She hadn't seemed that way when Anna had introduced them. She had been cheerful and talkative, letting him warm to her enough that he had not hesitated to offer when she had begged the coven for a safe place to stay.

Accolon's father had been caught and executed by the King just days before poor Anna. Accolon feared for Morgana and for himself – though apparently Uther didn't know of her magic, he would surely be as ruthless in retrieving his ward as he was in everything.

Morgana was company, though, and since his father had been gone that was a blessing in itself. He sighed heavily.

"Is everything all right?" she asked politely.

"I'm fine," was his set response. "How was your meeting with the Prince?"

"He's going to tell Uther to call off the search."

"You think he will? Uther, I mean."

"I don't know." She seemed worried and he wished he could comfort her better. "But at least I know Arthur's well. He misses me madly though. Probably had a few sleepless nights. I can tell these things."

"Your Sight…"

"A woman's intuition," she corrected him, smiling. "And I know how he feels," she murmured afterwards, prodding at her food indelicately.

Morgana was always beautiful, but when she smiled like that at him there was something else behind the twisting sensation in his stomach. Though she refused to admit it to him or anyone, he could tell she was lonely and afraid. There was nothing he could do about the danger she was in, but he could offer his friendship. He knew how it was to lose friends over these things and Morgana seemed to be very close to the Prince.

"Can I ask you something?" she said suddenly.

"Of course," he said, wiping his mouth on the back of one podgy hand.

"Who are the Fay?"

"Why'd you ask that?"

"I heard someone speak of them." Accolon suspected from her tone that wasn't the only reason, though he couldn't think what any other might be. He scratched at his short beard. Laurence had soon discovered that his son would never have much talent for magic, but he had endeavoured to imbue him with every fact and story concerning it. Accolon had an impressive knowledge of magic as a result, but he had not thought it much use until the King's ward was at his own table and depending on him for answers. Perhaps his father had been wiser even than he had been credited for.

"There are legends that say in the old days a group of mortal humans managed to become immortal using sorcery. They wanted to be like the Sidhe, live for ever."

"The Sidhe?"

"The guardians of Avalon, so the legends say. And these sorcerers became more powerful than anyone before them – any people before, I should say. The immortal humans were called the Fay; they never had the appearance of the Sidhe and they were outcast from Avalon. Some versions say they were doomed to wander the Earth forever, not human but not accepted by the immortals, till they faded away to nothing at the edges of the world."

"It's just a legend, then?" Again she seemed more attentive than she should have been.

"Far as I know. There are those who still try for immortality. The Hesperidean Coven, for example, on the Isle of the Blessed. They're devoted, obsessed even, don't speak to us mere mortals."

Morgana mulled over the information. "Well, thank you." He nodded, wondering even more at her curiosity.

-o-

It was almost a month before Morgana found another opportunity to talk to Arthur. He was patrolling the lower town one night when she grabbed him and pulled him into a long-unoccupied house.

"It's dangerous for you here," he said, predictably.

"I can take care of myself." In truth, she knew she had been fairly reckless in coming here, but she had wanted so badly to see him again. They sat on the floor to talk, cross-legged like children.

"My father is gravely ill," he told her after a few minutes.

"I know."

"You've seen it?"

"No, I've heard." The coven was always full of gossip about Camelot.

He looked at her and bit his lip, as though he wanted to say something.

"What is it, Arthur?"

"I'm not ready to be King," he told the floor eventually.

"Of course you are."

She could tell he did not believe her. "Will you come back?" he asked. "When my father…"

"We'll see," she said. "I hope so. It's lonely without… without my old friends." People at the coven hardly spoke to her, not counting Accolon and Enid, his well-meaning but slightly dotty neighbour.

"I miss you too." He played with the ends of her curls. "Even though I have company."

"I have company too, but… it's not quite the same."

"You still haven't said who it is you're staying with."

Morgana supposed it wouldn't do any harm to tell him. "Accolon, a friend of Anna's. He's been very good to me."

"Just him?"

"Yes." His face contorted and she could tell he wanted to say something about that particular arrangement, but he held his tongue.

"Now that my father senses… that the end is near, he's redoubling his efforts to get me married," said Arthur awkwardly.

"It's as well I'm not there or he'd be offering me to the highest bidder by now," said Morgana, before wishing she could take it back.

"The latest one's called Rosamund," he said, ignoring her comment.

"Is she pretty?"

"Almost. Wet as a bath in a rainstorm, though."

-o-

"_Welcome, my child." _

_A woman with soft auburn tresses and dressed in shimmering samite kisses her forehead. She gestures around at the cavern, which glitters with crystals from every wall._

"_Welcome home, Morgana the Fay."_

Morgana woke, but not violently as she usually did. Since coming to Anna's coven she had had that dream several times. It was strange; normally her visions warned of calamity and she was only an observer in them.

Morgana the Fay. She had searched through the books she could find in the house or borrow from others, searching for more information, but it was mostly reiterations of what Accolon had told her._ The all-powerful Fay lived as pariahs from the mortal realm. Some bargained away their immortality with the Sidhe elders; the fate of the others is unknown._ The books did make it sound as if the phenomenon were real.

She untangled herself from the heavy woollen blankets and padded over to where Accolon slumped in his chair by the fire. His large black and white dog lay nested by his feet, gnawing greedily at something Morgana hoped but doubted was not her shoe.

"You're up," said Accolon. "Another dream?"

"Yes, but not a vision," she lied, "just a nightmare."

"Can you always tell?" he asked, standing up to look at her. Not having the Sight himself he could not know these things, she supposed.

"I get a feeling when it's a premonition. The same feeling I get when I cast spells or when I commune wi- communed with Anna."

He nodded. "I know the one you mean."

"I still remember when I saw her dying," said Morgana quietly. "Every detail."

"You know it wasn't your fault, don't you?"

"Yes. It wasn't, not really."

"Not at all," he said adamantly.

"I felt so useless, though. I couldn't even get Arthur to help me. I could always persuade him to do whatever I wanted, except that once when it mattered so much." She looked at Accolon, distressed. "I never want to feel so powerless again."

"I don't have much magic myself," he said, "but I'll do what I can to help you learn."

"Thank you." She had not been sure how to ask that of him, especially since he had already taken so much pity on her.

Morgana yawned; if anything her short time asleep had made her more tired. He opened his arms in invitation and she moved so he could hug her against his chest. Accolon's body was soft and bulky, not muscled and battleworn like Arthur.

"What's that for?" She touched the tattoo on his chest, a spiral pattern she recognised; Mordred had had one the same.

"Protection against evil."

"Does it work?"

He shrugged. "No idea. But it makes me look tough."

-o-

"I talked to Morgana last night," Arthur told Merlin.

"On patrol?"

"Yes. She sends her love to you and Guinevere, wishes she could visit but you know how it is."

Merlin stopped making Arthur's bed and looked at him as if he had something he wanted to say.

"What is it, Merlin?"

"Well, I know it's not my place…"

"Never stopped you before."

"I know she's angry at Uther, but that doesn't seem a reason to go into hiding. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Merlin, whatever you're about to say-"

"I just thought you might know, that's all," he said, though if he had been in doubt about Morgana's Sight before, he wasn't now she had practically disappeared and he was sure Arthur at least suspected she had some kind of magic. Arthur refused to say anything more about her.

"Gaius," he asked later as they ate together, "why didn't you tell Morgana about her Sight, if you knew that was what it was?"

"I've told you before, Merlin; it was too close to sorcery for Uther to tolerate, even from his own ward." He went back to eating as though what he had said justified everything.

"Uther didn't have to know. We should have told her. I mean, we could have helped."

Gaius peered over at him. "How exactly? There's no way to rid someone of their Sight."

"Maybe if she'd had someone to confide in, she wouldn't have run away."

Gaius shook his head. "Oh, to be young again and hopeful. I don't think anything could have persuaded her to stay. I'm sorry, Merlin, but I don't believe there's anything you could have done. Now eat your dinner and stop worrying."

Merlin clenched his hand tight around the handle of the jug and thought of arguing, but decided that there was no good it would do now.


	6. Chapter 6

-o-o-

**6.**

-o-o-

Merlin had often found himself surprised at Arthur: initially by what a prat he was, then that such a prat could also be Prince of Camelot, then again and again that even royal prats could have a heart. But he was never more surprised than when, upon discovering his servant's magic (quite by accident), instead of summoning the guards to clap him in irons, Arthur just smiled at him wryly.

"I knew there was something about you, Merlin." He smiled more broadly.

"Please don't tell anyone."

"Not a soul, I promise."

Merlin had to concede that he probably shouldn't have been surprised at all.

-o-

It turned out to be very true that Accolon did not have much magic. Most of what Morgana learnt was from going through books with him and committing incantations to heart. She loved the old books with their elaborate illustrations and calligraphy, loved their smell even though the dust on them made her sneeze more often than not, but still it would have been a dull activity if his company had not brightened it.

His eyes never settled on the page when they read together, instead darting over her in a deliberate way and then flitting all over the room as if to indicate there was nothing special about her direction, although she suspected otherwise.

Eventually she found this habit more unnerving than endearing and one day decided to take him to task on it. "Accolon?"

"Yes?" Even now he would not look at her properly.

"Does my presence here bother you? Have I imposed too long? I could find somewhere else, I'm sure, and I should have asked before now. It was thoughtless not to and you've been kinder-"

"Hey, where'd you get that idea? You're always welcome."

"Thank you."

"My home might not be as fancy as your castle was, not at all, but as long as it's mine there'll be room for you." He lowered his voice and she strained a little to make out his words. "I know you're used to better and you deserve your castle and your big soft bed piled high with pillows and your handsome prince, of course you deserve all that. I'd give you your comforts if I could, treat you like the lady you are, but we've got to stick together in times like these and I'll give you what I've got."

Morgana was humbled by his sincerity. She wringed her hands in her lap, but he saved her from responding by speaking again.

"If you didn't have magic you'd be there still."

"I suppose so." She had considered it more than once, in fact.

"Is it worth it?"

She repeated the arguments she had made to herself. "Magic's useful. Without it I'd just be another simpering lady in a tower somewhere. And when Arthur's King it shan't be a crime. People think he's his father's son, but I know him better than anyone. He knows what's fair and what isn't. And… magic feels right. It's a good feeling."

"I bet, 'specially when it's as strong as you have it."

Morgana paused and then leaned over to cradle his face in her hands, exerting a gentle pressure, and muttered some words Anna had taught her. She forced a connection between them so that he could feel as she did.

"Oh." His lips parted and he reached his own hands up to cover hers and press them more firmly against his skin. "That is a good feeling."

She agreed, but there was not enough contact. She gave up her inhibitions – where had they ever got her? – and kissed him warmly.

-o-

Gwen could always hear when Arthur and Merlin were coming a long time before they arrived. The sound of their bickering carried over to her as she worked at the stables.

Arthur strode up to her, his hands clasped behind him. "Ah, Gwen, I've come to trade you Merlin for a horse. Not a very good deal, I'm afraid."

"I should probably be insulted," added Merlin, "but by now I know he only mocks me because he's jealous of my looks."

Arthur rolled his eyes theatrically.

"I'll get you a horse, Arthur." Gwen smiled to herself as the two of them argued over something in the background. She was fairly sure she heard Arthur call Merlin an imbecile at least twice.

She came back and Arthur was looking guilty, his hands still behind his back. Merlin looked as if he was trying not to laugh.

She glanced between them, confused. "What?"

The two men traded glances. Arthur sighed and produced a squashed rose from behind his back. "I brought you this to cheer you up. Then what happened, Merlin?" He clapped him on the shoulder.

Merlin looked a little embarrassed. "I wanted to look at it, but I dropped it and I may have accidentally stepped on it."

Gwen laughed. "Oh, Merlin, don't ever change." She took the flower from Arthur. "Thank you, it's lovely… would be lovely."

Arthur seemed to see the funny side and smiled too. "Well, it did cheer you up." He took the reins from her.

"The two of you always cheer me up with your antics," said Gwen.

"Hm, the prince and the stable girl… I'm sure I've heard something like that before," teased Merlin as Arthur rode away.

"Don't be silly," said Gwen, though she couldn't stop herself from grinning stupidly. "He's just been very kind to me lately."

"Exactly. This is Arthur we're talking about."

"Oh, don't be so mean. Maybe he was a little harsh when you first met him, but now he treats you much better."

"He doesn't bring me flowers or keep gazing at me though," said Merlin. "Well," he joked, "not very often."

"Mm-hm," said Gwen as she tried to fold the rose petals back into shape.

-o-

Anna's house was a modest but comfortable-looking place. No one had moved in yet. Morgana had come here immediately after settling at the coven and noted that it was mostly empty of possessions – had Anna known her fate and tried to make a run for it? – but then her vision had clouded with tears and she had left before exploring further. Now she was on a second visit, months later, and did not cry, although there was an uncomfortable ache in the pit of her stomach. She scanned the place from the doorway. Cobwebs spread over the ceiling and a thin layer of dust covered the exposed surfaces. There were few indications that her friend had ever lived here.

"Morgana?" Accolon's voice made her jump. "Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you. Dinner's ready, though."

"It's all right. I probably shouldn't have come here." She gave another glance over the room. "But if I don't remember her, she'll just be a name in a record. A common criminal."

"I think the same about my father. I know one day we'll all be forgotten, but while I live I'll remember him as the good man he was."

Morgana tried not to look too pained. She had lost her father when she was only ten and sometimes felt that the picture she had of him was entirely pieced together from others' impressions of him. But for the portraits she had seen she might not even remember his face.

Accolon was still talking. "We live under threat of discovery and death. We should celebrate life while we have it, wherever we can find it."

Morgana was not sure what he was trying to say, so she nodded blankly. She had been hoping to borrow some of Anna's books on magic and mythology, but none were there; she stared at the space where they should have been.

"You don't look well," he said. "Let's get some food in you, eh?"

She took a last look and agreed, though she was queasy and didn't feel much like eating anything.

-o-

Late that spring, Gaius passed away. Arthur insisted that Merlin go back to his mother for a while, and he did so. Arthur told him it was for his own good, but there was also the fact that he could hardly bear to watch Merlin wandering around corridors in no particular direction with his grieving heart on his sleeve, especially as it always reminded him about his father's precarious state.

With no Merlin and no Morgana, Arthur found himself going down to the stables more and more often, probably distracting Gwen but consoling himself a great deal. He liked that she was sweet and shy and her company simple and that he could temporarily forget about his responsibilities. With Morgana everything had always seemed so much more complicated, especially with all that weight of expectation on them.

Of course, Gwen had to go upsetting things now and then.

"You were going to marry Lady Morgana, weren't you?" she asked him one day out of the blue.

"What?" He was genuinely taken aback, not only that she knew but that she would come out and question him about it.

"She said you asked her."

Naturally Morgana would tell Guinevere, he realised. "Well then, I expect you know how that turned out," he said, a little annoyed.

"She didn't say. She said she was thinking about it."

"Oh." An inscrutable feeling passed over him fleetingly. "It doesn't matter now, I suppose, but she refused me. Said she didn't want to marry anyone."

"That sounds like Morgana."

Arthur wondered how to change the subject.

"It's a pity," he heard Gwen say.

"Mm."

"She loved you very much," she said more quietly, making him look up at her. The expression on her face was anything but simple and he didn't even try to fathom what she had meant by this whole conversation.

-o-

Morgana swept her fingers along Accolon's back, enjoying the feeling of his body weighing down over hers. She had definitely got the hang of this communing thing, she thought, as he moaned against her throat.

He nipped at her lips. "Come on," he said before kissing her roughly.

She concentrated, murmuring a few words then letting her magic spill out through her hands and her mouth and every part of her until she had to tear away from him and gasp at the sensation.

-o-

Accolon earned most of his living helping the old ironsmith in town, who paid a good wage and never bothered to ask about Accolon's home or family. Sometimes he also took on odd jobs for other townspeople, fixing things here and there, which was the reason he was so late back this evening. He had managed to salvage a wrecked cart and the woman who owned it had been almost pathetically grateful. It was funny what little it could take to please some people, he thought.

As he made to unlock the door, his neighbour Enid slunk out from the space between their houses as if summoned by the jangling of the keys.

"Accolon, love, I know it's late, but could I come in with you a moment?"

They sat either side of the small table and he was about to offer her a nightcap, but from the unusual way she held herself and the overly enthusiastic smile she gave he suspected she might have had too much to drink already. He had never seen her like this before. Inebriation also seemed to have the effect of escalating her natural way of speaking almost to a parody of itself.

"She's sweet, that one, ain't she?" she asked with an exaggerated lisp. She flourished her arm in a surprisingly graceful movement to indicate a sleeping Morgana. It was odd for alcohol to make a person more graceful and hold themselves with more poise, but that appeared to be its effect here. "Poor lamb, on the run from her home an' all. Least she has good old Accolon, eh, love?"

He nodded, amused by her manner.

"Oh, she has you good, don't she? Certainly pretty, give her that."

"I'm sorry?"

She laughed, the sound brash and hollow. "Don't be actin' all innocent, now; I know she's worked her wiles on you, my love. Ain't nothing gets past this ol' girl."

Accolon squirmed in his chair. "You don't look a day over thirty-five," he said.

"Oh, no changin' the subject, tryin' to be all sneaky on me. No, you've got a soft spot, ain't you, love?"

"Am I so obvious?"

She grinned maniacally at him. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with old Enid." All of a sudden she dropped her overblown friendliness and looked at him seriously. "I'm only warning you, but maybe you should guard against becoming too attached. Keep your distance." Her wrinkles grew deeper as she screwed up her face at some unknown irritation.

"Why'd you say that?"

"Why's she here? 'Cause of magic. 'Cause of Uther. But once he's gone?"

"Yes, she's only waiting here, for the King to find her or for him to die, whichever's first."

"Exactly, she's waitin', and our dear Accolon is helping her pass the time. I didn't think you were one to go for high an' mighty types, love."

"Morgana isn't like that at all," he said vehemently. His patience with Enid was starting to wear thin.

"See, that's what I mean, it's getting so as a word against her is a slight against you in your eyes. I just don't want to see your poor heart get smashed up when your fair Lady there goes runnin' back to that pretty-boy prince of hers. I know it's not my business, not really, but I'll make it so when my Accolon's heart is on the line."

She got up and patted him on the shoulder. "Well, I reckon it's past my bedtime. Sorry for the lecture, but someone's got to knock some sense into that dreamin' head of yours, eh? Night, love." She walked out with more of a glide than her usual ambling gait.

Accolon went to check on Morgana – sleeping sound as an angel. Indeed, she would leave on Uther's death or on her capture, and Accolon knew which one he wanted to happen first.

-o-

"Going out, are you? It's a bit early." Enid's sallow face appeared at the empty frame of her window as Morgana walked past.

"I have to meet Arthur. I think he's going to be by himself for once."

"Must be hard, being without him."

"It is," she said uncomfortably.

"You've all my sympathy. Never found a man who was worth it, myself. Hold onto that Prince of yours, won't you?"

Morgana made a non-committal noise in the back of her throat and continued before Enid could question her further, towards the exit and the forest.

It was early as Enid had said, and the sky was a blotchy maroon as though someone had overturned a great bottle of red wine upon the heavens. The sun was weak and provided little warmth; Morgana pulled her hood tighter around her face and neck.

Arthur was out hunting. Usually he would have taken Merlin and he did not wish to replace him, so as Morgana had predicted he was alone. He greeted her with surprise.

"How did you-"

"I saw this meeting. Last week, actually."

"But if you hadn't seen it, it wouldn't have happened - my head hurts."

"Don't think about it too much." She motioned. "I've been turning up by this exact bend in the stream for a week."

"Huh."

She paused for a moment to inhale the clean morning air. It carried to her the sweet scent of dampened pine.

"There's something you need to tell me," she said.

"There is… do you already know?"

"No, I didn't see much."

"My father's better-"

"Yes. That's not it, though, is it?"

"No, it isn't. Well then, Morgana" he said with a nervous chuckle, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you." He prevaricated a while longer, brushing the wet grass off one boot with the toe of the other, until suddenly he fixed his eyes on hers and spoke insistently.

"You know how it feels to be haunted."

"By visions, yes, by the future. I expect you mean-"

"The past. There's something I did…"

-o-

Morgana was looking at him, curious, and Arthur wondered if it was wise to tell her – but oh, how he needed to get this weight off his chest. If anyone could absolve him, it would be her.

"You remember the druid boy, how he was killed." He was having second thoughts already but her eyes went wide and it was too late.

"No…"

"I didn't mean to, I didn't know…" He hadn't even realised who the boy was at the time, but that was no excuse. He trailed off.

"How could you?"

"He came at me – it was an accident." It was the truth. The boy had run up to him, fists flying, and it had only been a reflex. One blow and Mordred must have been dead within minutes.

Morgana held her hands over her mouth in distress. "If it wasn't your fault- but why were you there?" Arthur cringed as she worked it out. "You…"

"I had to," mumbled Arthur. "She broke the law."

"The way I have, you mean?"

"My father was adamant that-"

"I don't want to hear it," declared Morgana as she backed away from him. "Please, just go…"

"Morgana, please."

"I need to think…"

He sighed and left, as he didn't know what else to do.

-o-

Morgana sat on her bed in Accolon's house and simply thought.

Perhaps Mordred's death had indeed been an accident – she flattered herself to know when Arthur was lying through his teeth – but Arthur could not have gone after Anna save on purpose. That, more than the sad fate of the boy who after all had only been alive due to Arthur, blighted her view of him as noble and largely on the side of justice. Blanket condemnation of magic was easy for Uther or for anyone; no thought was required to crush any small infringement when it was discovered. But she had always thought Arthur the sort to consider whether his actions were truly right, not whether they adhered blindly to his father's ruthless dictums, even if it meant defying him once in a while.

She had been going to accept his proposal, too, and she told herself it had been a lucky escape, since he had likely only asked her because Uther would have approved.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Accolon came in, shrugging off his light coat. Though it was the middle of summer it was surprisingly cold outside.

"Are you all right? You look worried," he said.

She shrugged.

"You should get out of here now and then, and not just to visit that Prince of yours." He sounded slightly bitter and she agreed to go outside with him for a while.

-o-

Iastheir assumed the form of an old woman to search the marketplace. She spotted her target: there were Accolon and Morgana, the latter's face hidden by a large hood. Though they were far from Camelot, she always took care not to be recognised. The King's search for his ward was well-known and though no reward had been offered officially, there would surely be great honour for the one who brought her back to him.

"Excuse me, sir, violets, spare a penny? A violet for your pretty lady."

Accolon waved her off but Morgana whispered something to him and he took one reluctantly, giving the old woman her penny. Morgana tucked the flower into the pin of her brooch and Iastheir smiled and thanked them, her work complete.


	7. Chapter 7

-o-o-

**7.**

-o-o-

The towering hedges of the castle gardens were arranged in a wide geometric pattern with beds of brightly-coloured flowers running in between and sandwiching the narrow, roughly-paved paths along which Arthur was now scuffing his feet. He meandered with no chief direction until upon turning a corner he saw Gwen and welcomed the distraction, as his mind had been obsessing over his conversation with Morgana the day before. Gwen stood on the steps of the miniature pavilion, whose golden-tipped marble dome barely extended a foot beyond the hedge-line. Her attention seemed to be focussed on the plaque on the building's facade.

"Guinevere!"

"Arthur, hello. I was just…" She waved her hand at the plaque. "I can't read Latin, though."

He moved closer, brushing past her to examine it himself. "This… dedicated…" He screwed up his nose at it. "Me neither, it seems."

The bright sunshine made her complexion more radiant and tinted her cheeks red, even more so when she threw her head back and laughed as she did now. Then she leant back against a column and all her radiance seemed to drop away instantly as she frowned at him with concern and asked him how he was. He supposed he must see the anxiety that he felt. He decided not to trouble her by telling her about the argument with Morgana.

"All the better for seeing you this fine afternoon," he said and Gwen smiled graciously, lighting her face up once more.

"How was the meeting with your father?"

Arthur made a groaning noise and she giggled. "Absolutely scintillating. I've never heard property taxes discussed at such astounding length before. I was almost impressed at quite how ridiculously dull it was. Really, it's as well I bumped into you. I was slightly contemplating throwing myself off the battlements just so that I don't have to endure the inevitable reprise next week."

Her brow creased in bewilderment.

"Well, all right, maybe not the battlements. A low wall or something. Enough for a broken ankle at least. Though my father might make me go regardless…" That definitely didn't cure her baffled expression. "I'm sorry, I'm talking nonsense."

"Oh no, it's good that my presence saved you from… a broken ankle."

Arthur grinned; though it was obvious she thought he was completely daft, she didn't mind putting up with him. "I'm always grateful for your presence, Guinevere."

She looked down at the floor then up at him through her eyelashes. "I'm glad of that, Arthur."

Arthur was unsure for a moment. He stepped forward, bending his head down, but hesitated; to his surprise it was Gwen who closed the distance and kissed him, graceful and lingering. He looked at her, nervous for some reason, then kissed her back, his hands loosely round her waist.

They were interrupted by a heavy crash to the side as Merlin came round the corner, saw them, and tripped over into a wheelbarrow. Arthur hurriedly backed away from her.

"Er, hi," said Merlin.

"You're back!" Gwen ran over to hug him.

"Impeccable timing as always," muttered Arthur.

Merlin's cheeks had turned an impressive shade of scarlet. "I'll… catch up with you two later…" He scurried off, leaving them alone.

"Well," said Gwen.

"Well," said Arthur. She went on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and left without another word.

He went back to his room only to find Merlin there.

"Shut up," said Arthur.

Merlin grinned and said nothing.

-o-

Gwen smiled to herself all the way home and thanked God her skin was not as pale as Merlin's, so the furious blush she was sure she had was not so noticeable.

For once her house did not seem quite so horribly lonely as she sat and ate her dinner. This whole thing seemed so silly. She giggled, even, remembering the way Merlin had fallen over his own feet and Arthur - Prince Arthur! – had had that hilarious expression at being caught. He didn't look ashamed, thank goodness. Gwen was not sure what had possessed her to have the boldness to kiss him, but she was hopelessly glad that she had.

She touched her lips and remembered. Her father had always said that she needed to find herself a good husband, and what better… but she was letting her imagination run away with her. One embrace was not a proposal and Arthur was spoilt for choice when it came to girls throwing themselves at him.

Gwen decided to be grateful for that one embrace, but included a plea for Arthur to make wise and fortuitous decisions in her prayers that night.

Fortuitous for the kingdom and its people, naturally. She had always prided herself as an upstanding citizen of Camelot.

-o-

Morgana was feverish and kept slipping in and out of consciousness. Accolon had gone out to fetch her more water, having sat by her and tried to calm her for hours. She was less hot and dizzy now; she was merely exhausted, on the border of sleep. Her visions were troubling her.

_Arthur is lying in his own blood, slowly dying. She has seen this over and over, each time even clearer. He is bleeding from his head and from somewhere on his torso._

She looked around the room. Accolon was still not back.

_Arthur is lying in his own blood, slowly dying…_

_The sight disintegrates to be replaced by Uther, staring fearfully at someone. They are in the forest, by the stream she thinks from the noise of rushing water. Morgana is again not really there, but somehow her view shifts to see the man aiming an arrow at Uther._

_She shouts at Accolon but he cannot see or hear her. His face is determined. He lets go of the bowstring._

"No!" She sat bolt upright, panting, and hauled herself up, though every muscle ached. It was late and none of the coven was around to stop her as she half-ran to the entrance. As she stepped outside the icy cold air made her shiver even more. She felt scared by herself in the dense forest, but pressed onwards, conjuring up an orb of light to brighten the dusk.

She was only partway to the stream when Accolon burst out from between the trees, grabbing her hand and pulling her along with him. "We have to get out of here quick!" he said. "The guards are after me!"

"I saw what happened… we have to go back!" said Morgana as they fled.

Accolon tugged harder at her hand. "Come on, or they'll catch us!"

"The King…"

"The King will die, and everything'll be the better for it." He stumbled over a tree root and Morgana took the opportunity to wrestle her hand free. He turned to her and spoke angrily. "He killed Anna and my father and…"

Morgana had run off before hearing the rest of his sentence. She went back to where Uther was lying and hid in the undergrowth. Arthur knelt by his father, obscuring his face from her line of sight.

"I could not be more proud of you," she heard Uther say. "I know that Camelot will be in the safest of hands. I can rest easily, Arthur."

Arthur was begging him not to give up, telling him help was on its way. Morgana watched, wondering if Accolon had been right, though it hardly mattered; it was too late for anyone to save Uther either way.

Eventually Arthur seemed to realise this too. He was quiet.

The relative silence was broken by determined shouts in the distance. Morgana recognised Accolon's voice and her mild nausea was strengthened by dread. He was dragged into view by three guards. He spat and cursed at them. Arthur looked up at him with revulsion.

Morgana was too ill to assist Accolon with magic or muscle, so she crawled in the dirt on her elbows until she was too far away to be noticed, at which point she got up and ran. She staggered every now and then but kept on until she reached the subterranean street in the heart of the coven.

"Help me, someone help me!" she cried out feebly. Heads poked out of windows and a few people stepped outside to look at her in curiosity. Enid went straight to her and told her she should be in bed.

"You're white as a sheet."

"Accolon's been arrested. We have to help him!"

"Accolon? Did they see-"

"He killed Uther," said Morgana and she heard whispers arising all around. "Arthur is merciful, but no man could forgive that, even if he weren't obliged by law." She felt faint and grabbed at Enid's shoulders for support.

Enid's brow creased in sympathy. "Oh, my love." She turned her head and beckoned a few others over. "Take the poor girl back in, she's not well."

"No, we have to help him!" Morgana recoiled from their touches and backed away shakily.

"Even if we could, you say he murdered the King?" said Enid. "We're no loyal supporters, but murder?"

Morgana panicked. She summoned up all her magic to transport herself to the dungeons, outside Accolon's cell. On seeing her he leapt up and gripped the bars.

"You came for me."

"Of course I-" She was cut off by Merlin, who appeared literally out of nowhere and grabbed her by the sleeve.

"What? Merlin? How…?"

"I know a trick or two myself," he said, not letting go of her.

Arthur came down the staircase behind him. Morgana suddenly felt extremely weak, even more so than before, and there were pinpricks of light marring her vision. She should not have used all her energy in getting here. She vaguely heard Arthur and Merlin exchanging a few words before feeling Arthur's arms around her, picking her up, one arm under her legs and the other supporting her back. She leant her head against his chest.

He carried Morgana to her room. She wanted to protest, but knew at this point she could barely stand without assistance. He lay her down on the bed and she heard him ordering some men to guard the door. The world finally blurred away into oblivion.

-o-

Lillian called upwards, her voice echoing from the walls. "Oh, Great Dragon! We need to have words!"

After a few unanswered cries the dragon deigned to come down.

"I expect you know that King Uther is no more?" asked Lillian.

"And once I am free from my shackles I shall rejoice fully."

"But surely you also know whom Arthur will choose to help him in these decisions?"

"The young warlock," said the dragon with contempt. "However, I don't believe that one small trespass against him on my part will be enough to warrant my further imprisonment."

"Indeed, Merlin is more than usually trusting, which for you is unfortunate."

"How so?"

"I believe there is another wielder of powerful magic whom you have more than _one small trespass_ against, and she certainly won't be content with your freedom."

The dragon stood up tall on his hind legs. "I had no idea you cared so much for your sister."

"Which one?" she said vehemently. "The one whose death you helped to bring about or the one whom your kind locked beneath the waters for eternity?"

"Either." He flapped his wings out threateningly. "Nimueh was dangerous, murderous even, and Corinna consumed by greed. They were both outreaching their grasp. And you did not exactly get along with them."

"We had our disagreements, but I loved them both dearly, something that is far beyond your brutish mind!"

Simultaneously, the dragon breathed out a great, consuming burst of fire and Lillian summoned up a shining wall of magic which repelled the flames and reflected them back at him. The dragon gave a harrowing, screeching roar and Lillian cast him down to the bottom of the deep pit below the ledge.

She peered over in disgust at the dragon's broken body before dropping her torch into the chasm and disappearing.

-o-

_Arthur is shouting out for help, looking upwards, begging for mercy. _

_She can hear the dragon's voice in her head. "He shall return when there is need of him."_

_He is lying in his own blood, slowly dying…_

"Morgana," Arthur said and she came to blearily to see him sitting by her on the bed, deep concern on his face.

She blinked at him. "You're all right. Always," she mumbled.

"You're not well, Morgana. You need to rest," he said, as if lecturing a small child. He took her hand in his and stroked his thumb over it gently. She did not have the energy to argue.

"Accolon?" she said after a few moments, when she had remembered why she was there.

Arthur let go of her hand. "He murdered my father. He committed treason."

"He's dead then."

"Yes." Arthur was angry or sad or more probably both. Somehow the knowledge of Accolon's death and Arthur's sorrow seeped into her muddied thoughts and she felt tears pricking at her eyes. She could remember how she had wept for her own father and the recollection stung after all these years, even enduring past the memories of the man himself.

"And me?" she asked.

"I trust you had no part in any of it."

"No." She remained unsure as to whether she would have wanted any. "I had no idea. I'm sorry, Arthur."

He moved away and stood up. "I'll send for the physician."

"I'm not staying, Arthur," she said, because it was the truth.

Arthur's posture tensed up for a moment. "You're staying until you're well. Then… then you can go, if you wish." He opened the door to leave.

"You can't keep me prisoner here!"

"Actually," he said - and she could tell beneath his composure he was livid - "I think you'll find I can."

"Then you are no better than your father!" she called after him, her voice scratching painfully. Her head flopped back on the pillow. Within seconds she lost consciousness again.

There was a blurring of time after that and Morgana was not sure how many days she spent in bed. Her state only worsened – sometimes she could only tell that she was awake by the throbbing pain in her head. Reality blended with her visions and with her normal dreams.

She tried to resent Tarquin, the physician who came to treat her, because she had not asked for treatment and because he was not Gaius, but he had a gentle and reassuring manner about him. She let him tend to her and administer his medicines, little use though they were.

"Just a little spoonful, my lady," he would say, supporting her head with one hand as she sipped it. "One spoonful and you'll be well. Then I'll have the pleasure of conversing with my lady, for you'll have your strength back yet."

Sometimes Gwen came to visit her. She was fairly sure those visits weren't dreams, though the memories were similarly difficult to grasp before they vanished.

"I've missed you," Gwen told her. "I've missed your smile, even your bickering with Arthur. Please don't go away again. Arthur's King now; everything will be better. You two can make up, like you always do." She was kind and hopelessly optimistic and Morgana would miss her too.

On one occasion Arthur came and leant against the wall, watching her longingly from across the room.

"I had a dream last night," he said, his voice soft and tender.

"I've had several," said Morgana.

"We were married," he said. "We lived happily. You loved me more than life itself. I woke and wished it was all because I had your Sight."

Right then Morgana woke and for a short time wished she was rid of all her magic and her visions.

"_Welcome home, my child…"_

That vision was the most frequent. She could not fully decipher it even now, despite all her reading.

"_Welcome home, Morgana the Fay…"_

The world was not quite clear yet. Merlin's hand rested on her brow. Then it was removed and she heard him whisper an incantation. She opened her eyes wide and he helped her to sit up.

"Drink this," he said, holding a small cup to her lips. She did as he said; she was weak and Merlin always seemed to have the answers. He lay her back down reverently and left.

-o-

"She should be well by morning, then?" asked Arthur as Merlin returned from Morgana's room.

"I can't be sure," he said. "If her illness was induced by a cursed object, as I'd guess it was, then it may well work."

"May well?"

"Hush, Arthur." Gwen put her hand on his arm. "We can only try our best and we don't even know what's wrong."

"That's not very comforting," he said, clearly stressed but trying to contain his anger.

"She keeps talking to herself," said Gwen. "I think she's asleep when she does it, or maybe she's hallucinating?"

"It's her dreams, I think. Now that my father…" He paused and Gwen squeezed him arm gently. "Now that he's gone, I might as well tell you that Morgana… is able to see the future."

"I know," said Gwen and Merlin simultaneously before staring at one another.

"I suspected, anyway," she added.

"And I believe her magic is powerful," said Merlin. "But at the moment…"

"If she were fully awake perhaps she could diagnose and treat herself," said Arthur. "But I suppose we'll have to wait and see if Merlin's remedy has any effect."

Merlin could see him crumbling under the thought of another long night just waiting. "Why don't you try to get some sleep? I'll stay up and wake you if anything changes."

Arthur gave him a sad smile and his silent thanks, though Merlin was sure none of them would manage to sleep that night.

-o-

In fact, Morgana became fully aware of her surroundings late in the evening and by the early hours of the morning was rummaging through drawers and cupboards for anything that might be useful. She had left her jewellery last time but took some now as it might be useful to have something of value. She tied up a thin bedsheet into an approximation of a sack.

Merlin came to check on her about every hour, possibly because he could not bear to sit and watch her constantly. She had pretended to be completely unconscious the last few times and he seemed to have believed it. Now she had maybe forty minutes to get out, which seemed like enough, but there were probably still guards at the door and there was a long sheer drop down from the window. She was too weak to transport herself out using magic.

She lay down to look through the crack under the door and only saw one pair of feet. Arthur had perhaps thought that in her condition one guard could keep her in, in which case he was right; she could not muster enough physical strength or magic to tackle him immediately.

After pondering for a few minutes Morgana thought she had a workable idea. She found a dark red shade of lipstick and melted it in the flame of a candle so that it dripped onto a handkerchief and produced splattered stains. It would be convincing in the dim light if the guard did not bother to look closely. She dabbed some around her mouth, started to cough loudly, and opened the door.

"Please, I need help." She held the handkerchief to her mouth and made choking noises, leaning on the door handle as if for support. "Please…"

The guard looked around, worried, but evidently decided that she would not be going anywhere. He told her to stay put and hurried away to fetch someone. Morgana dropped the handkerchief and went back inside, pulling on a cloak with a hood and picking up her small batch of possessions.

She was quick to escape, as her empty room would soon be discovered. The castle was mostly designed to be hard to get into and no one tried to stop her as she left. She slipped out through the servant's entrance. In the town she stole a horse, but left a bracelet that was worth more in its place.

She stopped to take a drink just as the sunrise was breaking over the horizon. Crouching down at a brook she caught sight of her reflection. The lipstick dribbled down from the corners of her mouth where she had smeared it, stark against her ash-white skin. With the grey circles shadowing below her eyes and the bulging tangle of black hair the overall effect was of such a caricature of horror that Morgana let out a short laugh before washing away the stains. She sipped more water from her cupped hands as her horse splashed about in an attempt to find purchase on the soft clay.

Having clambered back onto the unsaddled horse she felt a sudden spell of dizziness in addition to her general fatigue. She bent forward so that her forehead almost touched the dark mane and waited for it to pass. For that minute or so her thoughts floated from her mind, all her dolour wiped away and any hint of purpose beyond her grasp; only the susurrations of the brook and the lazy drone of insects made any impact on her consciousness.

The faintness left her and she straightened up in a jerky movement. She persevered through her weakness and continued her swift journey towards the Isle of the Blessed.

-o-

"You could very well have killed her." Dylan pushed his hair back from his eyes in an idiosyncratic gesture of irritation, though the knotted mop barely budged. Unlike those around him, he was continually and insistently unconcerned with his appearance. He had not even banished the sprinkling of grey from amongst the grimy straggles of dun.

Iastheir showed no sign of regret. "Merlin is no fool. If by some strange chance he had failed to cure her, we could have interceded." She spoke slowly and deliberately in the way she always did, as if her words were of the utmost importance and no one could do better than to listen to her raptly.

"You're going to _intercede_ too much one of these days," he replied.

"I think I did quite well, all things considered. She failed to prevent Uther's death. Or Accolon's – I didn't even foresee that. I just thought he wouldn't be enough to keep her there."

Dylan grudgingly conceded.

Talfryn spoke up finally, stepping out from the shadows. He had none of Dylan's qualms and his own hair fell neatly and lustrously either side of lazily kind eyes. It was illusion, of course, but one he felt it worthwhile to indulge in.

"No pretending to be someone else again though," he said. "Your Enid was dreadful."

"Dreadful?" said Iastheir.

"She doesn't say "love" after every sentence. And she certainly doesn't prance around as you do."

"I don't _prance_…"

Lillian hushed them both and pointed to the small pool in front of her. "Look," she said. "She's coming. We didn't even have to fetch her ourselves."

-o-

Morgana wandered among the crumbling stone walls, searching for a sign of where to go. Finding nothing, she went back to the boat; she couldn't even be sure that this was the place in her vision.

Before she left, she turned to the ruins one more time. "Acracea?" Though the woman had never said that was her name, somehow Morgana knew it.

There was a light touch on her shoulder and the world distorted around her before reforming as the crystalline cave she had seen so many times. There in front of her was the woman from her visions, resplendent in her fine robes with her auburn hair tumbling gracefully down to her waist.

"Welcome my child," she said, kissing her forehead.

"This is madness," murmured Morgana as she took in her surroundings. There was not just one cave but several twisting corridors and spiral stairs hewn out of the twinkling rocks.

Acracea smiled and gestured. "Welcome home, Morgana the Fay."

**END OF PART ONE**


	8. Chapter 8

**PART TWO**

-o-o-

**8.**

-o-o-

Arthur stood on the battlements and stared out over the expanse of his kingdom.

"Not a bad place you've got here, is it?" said Merlin.

Arthur continued to stare, ignoring him.

"Arthur?"

"I need to ask your advice about something."

"Well, it is in my job description." On becoming King, Arthur had almost immediately elevated Merlin to the position of his chief advisor. Over this first year of his reign Merlin had been indispensible, not least because of his knowledge of magic.

"Do you think…" Arthur trailed off.

"Sometimes, sire. I try not to strain myself."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Do you think that I should marry Guinevere?"

"I think that might be the best idea that's ever passed through that thick head of yours," replied Merlin.

"I could have you executed with a word, you know."

"Oh, I know." Arthur doled out death threats with almost startling regularity. "But I'm only telling you what I think. I mean, the Round Table, for example: it seemed like a great idea at the time – everyone completely equal – until you start trying to pass things over it and they get stuck halfway across…"

"_Merlin_."

"Sorry."

"Are you sure it's a good idea? I can hear my father disapproving from beyond the grave."

"Do you love her?"

Arthur looked at him for the first time in their conversation, his expression implying that the answer was completely obvious. "I adore her."

Merlin just looked at him with that silly infectious grin of his, and Arthur and Guinevere were married before the year was out.

-o-

Vivian decided that wise and knowledgeable as Merlin might be, sometimes he needed a firm prod in the right direction. She appeared to him while he was strolling through the forest, a slip of a girl with big brown eyes, her hair and clothing dishevelled in such a meticulous fashion as to give the appearance of someone not averse to hard work, but not off-puttingly unkempt either.

"Good morning, Merlin."

He raised his hand automatically in defence, blue sparks dancing across his fingertips, and she sighed. "I'm a friend, I promise. Put your magic down for a second." She muttered under her breath. "Always threaten first, ask questions later, you people."

"Who are you?" He was deceptively innocent-looking, still somewhat childlike with his fluffy hair and open, honest eyes; she knew he could seriously hurt her if she so much as put a foot wrong.

"As I said, a friend. I want to give you a word of advice. Several, in fact."

"What's your name?"

"Call me Vivian. Look, I'm a Seer, and you're not quite adhering to the beaten track, if you get my drift."

He blinked at her.

"You see," she said, "well, actually I see, you're supposed to take King Arthur on a little jaunt to fetch that sword you tossed so carelessly into a lake a while back."

"The one that Uther used to combat the wraith?"

"Have you been throwing any other swords around lately? It has certain properties that will be invaluable in the future. Only Arthur can reclaim it from its guardian."

"It has a guardian?" asked Merlin.

"You do ask a lot of questions when you get round to it. There is… a being trapped in the lake. She's hanging onto the sword because it's pretty much the greatest weapon you'll ever come across."

Merlin smiled proudly.

Vivian continued. "But she is obliged to give it to Arthur. He alone in this land is worthy of it. If it gets into the wrong hands… let's just say that you won't want to be around when that happens."

He nodded. "Thank you for telling me this."

"I hope you will consider us friends, Merlin. There may come a time when I need your help. I also hope that we'll see each other again soon," she said, adding an eyelash flutter or two for effect.

"I hope so too," said Merlin with a grin, and this really was too easy, she thought.

-o-

"So," Arthur said, "let me get this straight. You took me on a special trip to retrieve a magical sword forged in the Great Dragon's breath from a mystical being imprisoned in a lake… and now you've _mislaid_ it."

"Well, yes," said Merlin, "but you don't have to put it quite like that."

"It's all right, it's here!" Guinevere came holding Excalibur reverently in its scabbard and passed it to Arthur. "I was just looking at it."

Arthur took it and kissed her forehead. "Thanks."

Merlin looked to Guinevere after the King had left. "Sometimes I think you like that thing better than Arthur does."

"Well, once a blacksmith's daughter…" She smiled wistfully. "I know pretty much everything there is to know about weaponry."

Merlin grinned. "If you ask me, it's a bit sad."

They laughed and he took her arm to escort her downstairs.

-o-

Guinevere found some shade from the midday sun under a small tree. She sat down and picked at the grass absent-mindedly. She picked up a daisy and spun it between her finger and thumb, remembering days long past.

She often wondered what had become of Morgana since she had disappeared two years ago. Arthur never spoke of her any more. Every time Guinevere was about to bring up the subject she thought better of it immediately. Although she no longer missed Morgana as desperately as she once had, she wished she could be sure she was safe and well.

"My lady?"

She dropped the daisy and looked up to see Lancelot. "Oh. Guinevere, please."

He smiled. "Guinevere then. May I?" He gestured at the ground beside her.

"Oh, of course. How's your training, Lancelot? I hope Arthur isn't bullying you."

He sat down and pulled off his gloves as he spoke. "The King has been very good to me. My training goes well, though I fear I'll never match your husband for bravery or skill."

"He's a good soldier."

"And a good man. If it weren't for his benevolence I'd never have become a Knight of Camelot. You're lucky to have such a fine husband, Guinevere. I have met none his equal."

"Yes," said Guinevere. "I often think I'm lucky, I feel…"

"You feel…?"

She sighed. "I feel sometimes as if I'm… out of place. What am I doing with all these noblewomen? Why would Arthur choose me, when he could have any woman he wished?"

Lancelot nodded. "I know the feeling. Though Arthur has allowed any man to be one of his knights, there are still those who don't agree with his policy." His tongue flicked over his bottom lip in nervousness. "And I know why he would choose you. You have a quiet beauty and a presence of mind that noble blood cannot compensate for."

Guinevere wasn't sure what to say, though she was flattered.

"I'm sorry," said Lancelot hurriedly. "I should not have been so disrespectful…"

"Oh, not at all. I may be Queen but I still value a sincere compliment."

"I am sincere. Well," he said suddenly, "I should be getting back."

-o-

"The records, my lord." Geoffrey set them down in front of Arthur.

"Thank you. Give me a minute."

Geoffrey bowed his head curtly and left the King to peruse the records. And how many there were; Arthur passed hundreds of names as he leafed through the pages. He stopped as he when he saw _Anna Trevean_ written in Geoffrey's cursive hand. _Execution by fire_. It went on to list her charges, her employment and so forth, but Arthur had turned the page. No more were charged that month. He turned back to the space below Anna's name and, finding a pen, wrote neatly below it.

_Mordred Trevean. Execution_

His hand hovered for a moment above the page.

_Execution by_

He slammed the book shut, probably smudging the ink everywhere, he realised. He picked up the volumes to hand back to Geoffrey, who waited outside.

"My lord?"

"Make these public. But no memorial."

"Might I ask why, my lord?"

"Well, in the first instance you can't tell whether they used magic with malicious intent or not. I don't want to condone a memorial for murderers."

"I'm sure with careful examination-"

"And second, because I tell you so," said Arthur, more angrily than he had intended. A memorial? It might as well have _Mistakes my father made_ engraved at the top for all the world to see.

"Of course, sire," said Geoffrey and hurried away. Arthur glared down at his ink-stained fingers.

-o-

"What is the point in having a maidservant if you insist on doing everything for her?" asked Arthur.

Guinevere shrugged. "I like having the company. And it's not as if I need someone to help when I've been doing these things all my life. You know how I used to help L-" She stopped herself before she said Morgana's name, but Arthur looked a little hurt anyway.

"I can dismiss her if you'd like," she said.

"No, don't do that," said Arthur. Guinevere didn't like him when he was like this; she was never sure what she had done wrong and he wouldn't say it directly.

"You want me to stop doing things for myself, then?"

"_Yes_," he said.

She wondered why he hadn't just told her that in the first place. "All right, if you want."

Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be…" He waved his hand. "I forget you're not used to these things. But now we're married, people will expect you to behave a certain way. Not doing your own laundry, for example."

"By 'people' you mean you." Guinevere was tired of behaving like a queen. It wasn't what she had thought of all those times she'd been entranced by the ladies at court and all their finery. There was far too much curtseying and trying to make polite conversation with noblemen who kept looking at her as a servant. Sometimes she felt that way, as if she was still the little girl dressed up in Morgana's clothes, as if she was not meant to be there.

He looked at her wearily. "Of course not. I love you as you are. But others are not so forgiving. It's not becoming for the queen to behave like a maid."

Guinevere gave in and agreed to allow Letty to do her chores for her. She thought perhaps if she acted more the part then she would feel more the part, though really she didn't need help brushing her hair.

That evening Arthur snuggled up with her, as always, not apologising because he didn't think there was anything to apologise for, as always. But he put his arms around her and held her, safe and warm, and told her he loved her, and she decided it really did not matter.

-o-

"Arthur? Come to bed." His pacing was making Guinevere anxious.

He sat down wearily.

"What's troubling you?" She massaged his shoulders through his shirt.

"Oh, lots of things. Don't worry." He gave her a feeble smile.

"I do worry, always." She kissed his neck. "Tell me."

He sighed. "Mercia are not backing down with their demands. Tristan's got himself injured and unable to fight for at least a few weeks. Sir Percival's got it into his head that he's going to go off scouring the land for some sacred cup or other-"

"The Holy Grail?"

"Something like that. Really, what use is divine crockery when we're on the brink of war?"

She giggled. "You are funny when you're annoyed. Divine crockery…"

"I'm glad Percival's nonsense is good for something."

She kissed him again. She preferred him to rant at her than to go about the place all silent and sombre. At least then she could try to console him.

-o-

Guinevere ran to greet her returning hero.

"Mercia has fallen," Arthur told her.

"I heard the news yesterday. I was so happy to hear you'd be coming home." Her hand fluttered to her throat as two men bearing a stretcher caught her eye. "Lancelot's wounded?"

"He'll live," said Arthur, though she was not entirely convinced of it by his tone. "Give us a few hours to recuperate, Gwen, then we can swap stories."

She was surprised that he of all people should revert to calling her that. She nodded and went to prepare for the inevitable sumptuous banquet and to chat with Letty as she used to with Morgana.

She asked Arthur the next day why he seemed so sad despite his victory. "Even Lancelot's rejoicing and last night I thought he might keel over any moment… not just from the copious amounts of ale about, either."

"I may have to go away again," said Arthur and her joy rapidly dissipated. "King Lot's son is dead and he is without an heir." There was a hint of anxiety in his voice and Guinevere suspected it had more to do with his own lack of heir than him having to leave her again. He never tried to make her feel guilty for their marriage being so unfruitful, but she still irrationally did.

"Oh," she said, "you mean you need to go and befriend him."

"We are already good friends; I need to impress him more than any other potential ruler. You could come - but I know how you hate these official visits."

"I really do."

"It won't be for long. Merlin will be here still and some of my knights too – certainly Lancelot, the state he's in. Lamorak will be in charge, with Merlin's counsel of course."

"Mercia, Lothian, Orkney… you'll have all of Albion before you know it."

"That wouldn't be so terrible." He looked at her guiltily. "I'm sorry to leave you. If you did come, I know they would love you. How could they not?"

"Oh, Arthur, I couldn't, and-"

"Don't be modest. I know you're about to be modest." He punctuated his words with kisses. "You are so kind… and cheerful… and sweet… no one could help but love you once they knew you."

-o-

After Arthur had left again, Guinevere went to check on Lancelot, who greeted her with a cheery smile.

"I should be up and about properly in a week or so," he told her.

"Don't be too hasty," warned the physician as he left them alone for a moment.

"You seem more happy since you returned," said Guinevere.

"I have some news – well, not yet news, but a story at least. While travelling we stayed a few days at Astolat and I renewed my friendship with the Lady Elaine, whom perhaps you know? Or at least you know her brother Lavain."

"Yes, I met him last year, but not Elaine, I don't think."

"She is renowned as a great beauty, and to that I can attest. Her other virtues are equally matched. I hope that with a few more visits and a talk with her father we shall be betrothed." He fixed her with a peculiar smile.

Guinevere had an unpleasant sinking feeling in her stomach that she told herself was not disappointment, because that would make no sense. "Really? Well, she… she sounds lovely. I mean, I haven't met her, obviously, but you have my blessing. Not that you need my blessing, of course, that would be silly."

"I value your judgement, however. We shall have to find an opportunity to introduce you both. You'll like her, I'm sure. She is the most agreeable woman I have ever come across – except for my lady, of course."

Guinevere gulped and took Tarquin's return as an excuse to leave.

She went and knelt by her bed to pray, but decided that before confessing to God she had to confess to herself. Yes, she had felt disappointment and an unwarranted resentment towards this courteous and fair Lady Elaine, whom she had never met. Yes, Lancelot was polite and unassuming, more her type than Arthur if she had one, though he had all Arthur's heroic attitudes as well.

She prayed that she would never be tempted and left out anything about how she already had been.

-o-

Guinevere sat in her throne beside Sir Lamorak as he talked to the messenger in front of them. She had stopped listening after hearing that Arthur's return would be delayed for another two weeks. She had already waited five.

The castle was hushed and gloomy with most of the knights and half of the staff gone and Guinevere found herself almost longing for those raucous feasts she had previously despised. More than anything she wanted Arthur back so that she could tell him (and herself, a traitorous voice whispered) how much she loved and missed him. She had been clinging to the thought of tomorrow, when he had been due back.

Merlin was around, of course, but he always gave off an unnerving air of knowing everything, which had been fine when she had had nothing to hide; not that she had anything now except for thoughts.

Thoughts were enough, though and she knew in her heart she was guilty. She clutched at the small golden cross around her neck.

"My lady?" Lamorak looked at her, concerned. "Are you well? You look pale."

She asked that she be excused and he assented before turning back to the messenger. Guinevere was only there as a matter of ceremony in any case. She made her way back to her room but in the corridor met Lancelot of all people.

"My lady." He was handsome even recovering from his injuries. She reached for her cross again. She knew she should love everyone, love not lust, but with Lancelot the two were so irrevocably tangled up together.

"You seem a lot better today."

"Yes, able to fight as well just about."

"And visit Elaine," said Guinevere. If Lancelot went away that could only help matters.

He was uncomfortable. "I'm not sure about that. I think now that I may have been too hasty in my enthusiasm. No woman could compare to that compassionate…" He lost his conviction and averted his eyes.

Guinevere knew she should let well enough alone, but could not make herself. "What are you saying?"

"I thought it no secret how I feel." He spoke in a hushed voice as though it might make what he said more acceptable. "How I love-"

"No!"

"I'm sorry," he said, following her as she ran the rest of the way to her room. "Please, Guinevere…"

She shut the door between them but could not help leaning back against it to listen as Lancelot spoke cautiously through it.

"I had no idea how things would change when I truly fell in love. Every colour is brighter, every taste sweeter, and I swear if the heavens could sing to me they would, though the angels would know but one name, for my mind will tolerate none other. The thought of Elaine should bring me joy, but I cannot force my heart from you, even if it pains you. I'm sorry - please, let any guilt be mine. You have done no wrong."

Guinevere slowly opened the door and looked up to him with tears glistening in her eyes. "I have done wrong. Why else would I feel this shame? Perhaps no one knows except me, but…" She dropped her gaze to the floor and whispered. "Can we help who we love?"

Lancelot stroked her cheek and pressed his thumb to her bottom lip. "I was wrong," he said softly. "There is an angel who speaks to me, though she pains my heart with every word."

She looked into his eyes, found the answer to her question and knew she was too far gone to keep pretending otherwise.

-o-

"Guinevere, don't cry, don't cry." His voice was warmer even than his hands on her bare skin.

"How can I not?"

"Is it not a relief?"

"A relief? That I should…" She let out a sob and the words were lost.

"After waiting in agony so long, suspended, is it not a relief to fall?"

"Oh, I am fallen now…" she whispered to herself.

"You think our love is sinful, don't you?"

"You're not Arthur." Mentioning her husband had no effect on the atmosphere; it was not as if they had been unaware.

"But you can't help it," said Lancelot and his hands were touching her again, because he knew she was not only to be admired, but also cherished. "I certainly can't. Shall we be miserable and yet still sin? Or shall we delight in our love?"

"Lancelot."

"If you deny me I'll go on loving you, but in despair."

She turned to face him and he brushed the tears from her cheeks.

"And if you don't," he whispered, "I shall never know a greater joy. You have my whole heart, Guinevere."

She kissed him, because she could not tell him the same.

-o-

After three months, Arthur finally returned. He cast his eyes about the throne room.

"Where's Lamorak?"

"His father, sire," said Lancelot.

"What of his father?" he asked. Guinevere entered at that moment and when she ran to him he hugged her to his side. "What of him?" he repeated, as Lancelot had been distracted.

"I thought you would have heard. Pellinore's dead. It was very sudden."

"Lamorak left Lancelot in charge," added Guinevere.

"He was in a rush," said Lancelot, "and it's only been a couple of days, don't worry."

Arthur waved off his concerns. "Don't be foolish. Who's more deserving of my trust?"

Lancelot froze for a second. Then he began to search rapidly through the papers on the table. "He left this for you, sire."

Arthur took the letter from him and, letting go of Guinevere, unrolled it. His eyes widened as they travelled down the page.

"He can't do that!" he exclaimed.

"What, sire? Leave you his lands?"

"Why would he…?" Arthur started to read from the beginning again.

"Why are you protesting?" asked Guinevere.

"Of course he can rule them as well as I can," Arthur muttered to himself. "Doesn't think he's cut out for it…"

"I believe Lamorak wishes to make a gesture of the loyalty and trust we all have in you, sire."

"Oh, Lancelot, don't be so damned obsequious," said Arthur, but with a smile.


	9. Chapter 9

-o-o-

**9.**

-o-o-

There was a small chapel on the ground floor of the castle and Guinevere visited now and then, but not because she liked it much. The way the angels with jagged stone wings glared through hollow eyes from each corner of the room was more than off-putting to her. The curving structure of the walls and ceiling cushioned and diminished every sound so much as to render the eerie silence of the place a positive quantity. However, it was usually empty and Arthur never came down here. While he followed the prescribed rituals and ceremonies, he had never been particularly concerned with religion.

Guinevere made her way along the aisle, setting her hand momentarily on each empty pew as she passed, her footsteps echoing loudly. She sat at the front and closed her eyes.

"Pray all you want, it won't erase your actions."

Guinevere made a strangled noise of surprise and awe. Morgana had appeared directly before her, more finely dressed than ever, bedecked in glittering ornaments, her hair twirling up in plaits around her head to be fixed with jewelled pins. Everything about her spoke of excess.

"You're back," said Guinevere under her breath.

"I'm not staying for long," she replied, authoritative. "We have an issue to discuss, Gwen."

"Where have you been all this time? You look well, at least, but why leave us? And for where?"

"I'm here to talk about Lancelot, not my living arrangements."

Guinevere tried to feign innocence, but could feel herself flushing at his name. "We're friends, aren't we? Why are you acting like this?"

"Arthur is my friend too – or was, it doesn't matter – and you're making a fool of him. I can scarcely believe it of you. Sweet old reliable Gwen, who would have thought? But it is as it is. Did you ever love Arthur? Truly love him?"

"I loved him when we married and I love him now."

Morgana laughed mirthlessly. "That's what draws you to Lancelot's bed, is it?"

Guinevere wanted to back away but her calves pressed against the pew. "I love him too," she said meekly. "And he loves me more than anything. Haven't you ever been so in love that you lost control of your decisions?"

"However much you feel, your decisions are your own."

"And I willingly bear the consequences. Did you come only to berate me? Why did you leave for so long?"

"You know that Arthur and I parted on bad terms and I wished nothing more to do with Camelot. Regardless of that, I can't ignore what you're doing to him. I have to ask you to stop this."

"I don't know that I can make that promise."

"And what of the promise you made Arthur?" asked Morgana, full of rage. "It's a strange kind of love you have for him!"

Guinevere was sure she was blushing now; her face felt burning hot. "I can hardly sleep. All my thoughts are guilty ones. You don't have to convince me that this is wrong; I'm under no illusions."

Morgana grabbed her shoulders and fixed her with an impatient stare, echoed all about her in the angels' dead and pupilless eyes. "Then stop."

She shook her head, distraught. "I don't know how."

-o-

Arthur was staring at his own stone angel when Morgana came to him. It stood guardian over Uther's tomb and its monstrous wings covered nearly the entire back wall of the mausoleum. Its face was pained, its mouth shaped in a tortured O, and its arms outstretched, as if singing an endless silent requiem.

Morgana's voice came from Arthur's right. "Is your crown weighing heavily yet?"

Arthur started at Morgana's appearance, but tried his best to appear unruffled, staring stubbornly forwards instead of at her. "Couldn't stay away?"

He saw her shrug out of the corner of his eye. "I came to talk to Gwen, but something she told me made me obliged by my own conscience to speak with you."

"Go on." This situation and conversation were so surreal to him that he hardly knew what to say. Nearly three years with no contact and now she talked with bizarre formality as if they had never been friends.

"I don't know how to put this." She seemed genuinely concerned for a fleeting moment. "Your wife and Sir Lancelot-"

"I know," said Arthur.

"I'm sorry?"

"I can tell." He leant his forehead on his hand, shielding his eyes from her. "Just let's not talk about it."

"Arthur…" Now she sounded bemused. "You haven't done anything about it."

He gave a defeated shrug. She scoffed.

"I know it's been a while, but I remember when you had some pride."

He turned to her suddenly. "Well, while I have none, let me ask you why you ran away from me and never looked back. Do you hate me so much?"

She made no reply, only looked at him with a maddening air of pity.

"Morgana? Why? Tell me." At her continued silence he raised his voice nearly to a shout. "Why did you leave? I never meant you any harm. I would never hurt you!"

"As if you could touch me." She easily subdued him with a few muttered words and pinned him flat on his back, standing over him and grinning.

"Oh, how are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle…" The smug way she looked over him brought back memories of when they were young and she tripped him up just to watch him struggle on the ground with the heavy armour he wasn't used to.

"Morgana… stop messing around and answer me, please. Why did you leave?"

"You didn't try to find me. I don't know why you act offended."

"There wouldn't have been any point. I knew if you didn't want to be found you wouldn't be and if you wanted to come back… Come back, please."

She ignored his entreaty and knelt down beside him, her eyes flashing gold. "Now what could make Gwen stray from such a pretty face?" Morgana stroked his cheek delicately.

He stayed quiet, staring upwards.

"I know what," she said with a sudden tenderness that made him look at her involuntarily.

"You couldn't give her everything." She placed her hand over his heart. "I know you better than anyone, Arthur, I always have. You kept a piece of yourself for me, didn't you?" she whispered.

He swallowed. If this was what it took to convince her, perhaps it was worth a small confession. "I…"

She traced a circle on his chest. "There's a little corner there…"

"…yes," he breathed.

Morgana stood, stepping back and smiling with dry amusement. "I knew it." She paused, observing him. "But I suppose I'm also guilty of a slight sentiment. Nostalgia, maybe." She sighed and released her hold on him.

Arthur stood up warily. "I just want us to talk."

"But we've already caught up, haven't we? Guinevere's not enough for you, so you're not giving her enough – oh dear. You want to persuade me to join your idyll where no one is satisfied? And Lancelot betrays you even now, but you do nothing, because he can fight and you men value these things over loyalty."

"Not just… he is devoted to her as I cannot be."

"You're not the man I thought you were. Not in any sense." She shook her head at him in disgust and disappeared.

-o-

The coven had taken good care of Morgana since she had arrived, at least in her mind, for they had mostly left her to her own devices and given her space to mourn Accolon. She did not feel terribly close to any of them, but her close relationships never seemed to fare well. She had grieved too much recently. She had even found herself wishing Uther back; she had her reasons to despise him, but he had brought her up and looked after her for many years and such things were impossible to ignore.

Morgana lived by herself now. Her dwelling was stupidly large and airy and almost unnaturally silent most of the time, but she loved it. Everything here was much the same as in Anna's coven, only a hundred times grander. She left the castle and appeared back outside her home to see Iastheir looking up from a pool of water. Morgana's anger increased – they were always watching, always, never mind what might be private, and trying to tinker with things, especially Iastheir. She had taught Morgana how to see the present at will the way she saw the future in her sleep, but she did not relish it the way Iastheir did. It made her uncomfortable to spy on people like that.

"Do you really think it's because of you?" asked Iastheir, not bothering to clarify.

"No."

"Oh, you lied to him to find out, then?"

Morgana leant against the door jamb and tried to give a look which conveyed it was none of Iastheir's business. She knew she was failing to do so.

"You're not jealous, I hope," said Iastheir. "Not over the man who killed your friend, her son… and your lover."

Morgana was angry at Guinevere, but not with jealousy, exactly – though there had been something of a twinge when she had seen her draped in gold and crimson and Arthur smiling at his new wife as though he had never seen anything more beautiful. What fuelled her contempt was that Guinevere had her King, her fine possessions, everything she could have wanted, and was still unsatisfied. Barely had the two been married two years and already she was running around with Lancelot behind his back.

She should probably have been angry at Arthur, too, for being able to tell and not doing anything, for rolling over and taking it, but she found she could never be annoyed at him for long and that was the way it had always been. She was not sure why she had been quite so hostile towards him. Perhaps it was their childhood rivalry blown out of proportion, except this time with the upper hand perpetually hers. Perhaps it was the lingering spectres of Anna and Mordred. Much though she wanted to set the blame for Accolon's death at Arthur's feet also, she could not reasonably do so, and that merely frustrated her further.

"It's not that," she replied. "I wondered, that's all. You're right, though, it wasn't because of me. It's the way Gwen is. Lancelot loves her, so what can she do but please him? Gwen is the most caring woman you could ever wish to meet, but she does have a terrible habit of victimising herself. _Of course_ fate was conspiring against her, _of course_ she was helpless." Morgana nearly spat out the words. "_Of course_ she can do nothing about it now."

"Neither can Arthur, apparently."

Morgana felt another flash of ire. "I used to hold him in such esteem. How can a man fight for his kingdom, face death every day, yet be such a coward?"

Iastheir stared into the pool again and the corners of her lips quirked upwards. "There's something that'll make you feel better. Sir Percival's making progress towards the Grail."

"He doesn't succeed. Galahad does, some years from now," said Morgana in a bored tone. "He's grown some unflattering facial hair by then," she muttered as she turned to enter her house.

"I know. I'm just saying, wouldn't you feel better if it were because of you that Percival failed? You wouldn't really be doing any harm, just letting Arthur know that you're not impressed with things."

Morgana stopped and considered. "He is handsome."

"And naïve, if that's what you go for."

"But Arthur wouldn't know."

"I have a remarkable capacity for spreading rumours, not to mention a reputation as a highly reliable source. Percival's reckoned chastity is in danger as we speak."

Morgana had always assumed that the coven kept themselves to themselves, but now she thought about it she could hardly imagine Iastheir doing so.

"Well," she decided, "I suppose it might be fun."

-o-

"I think Arthur knows," said Lancelot, pausing in kissing her neck and letting his lips rest against her skin.

"He can't," said Guinevere. She was propped up against the wall, eyes closed and head tilted to the side. One hand gripped the bedcurtain. She was not disturbed enough by the possibility to move in any way or open her eyes – they freely acknowledged their deceit, and being as close as they both were to Arthur it would hardly have been possible to do otherwise. If she were to feel this guilt at mere thoughts she might as well fling herself into sin whole-heartedly. She had never been judged fit to be Queen, so let the disdainful comments have a ring of truth about them.

"Why's that?" His breath tickled and she shivered at it.

"Do you think he'd ignore it?"

"Maybe." He shifted himself to sit up next to her.

Guinevere finally troubled herself to open her eyes at losing his warmth. The sunlight streaming in from the window threw stripes of gold onto their legs stretched out together, and ordinarily she might have raised a smile at it, but she barely noticed now. "He's not so quick to anger as he used to be," she said, pensive, "but if anything would rile him…"

"He's not so proud, either," said Lancelot.

"Of me?"

"That's not what I meant to say."

"What did you mean to say?"

Lancelot took a few moments to speak, as if to phrase his reply carefully.

"I chose my love and loyalty to Camelot; Arthur has had it instilled into him from birth and that was always his pride. In letting his father's will perish he has laid aside a part of himself – not his best quality, perhaps but one without which he is lost."

Guinevere never doubted Lancelot's sincerity in his devotion to Arthur or to her, though it was not clear to her how he coped with such a dichotomy. He swore his allegiance to Camelot and was loyal in all things save when he came to her; and since he did come to her, why should she complain? As for Arthur, he would always be proud, of himself if not of her.

"I don't believe that," she said, although her grip on the curtain was tightening. "And how could he know? You've told no one and…" She clasped her free hand over her mouth.

"Morgana," she murmured through her fingers. "I've been so stupid!"

"The Lady Morgana?" he asked with surprise. "You told her? I don't understand; I thought no one had seen her in years. Well," he said with a snort, "except Percival."

"She came to see me. She knew about us."

"How could she have known?"

"She watches the castle somehow. With magic. Merlin talked about it once."

"Doesn't that take exceptionally strong magic?"

"I don't know, but she's very powerful. Merlin said there are prophecies about her and one day she'll be stronger than him even."

"Than Merlin?" Lancelot sounded in awe of the idea.

"Yes. But anyway, she knew. She wanted me to tell Arthur."

"Why?"

"Well, you know." Lancelot gave a look to tell her that he didn't. "Morgana… they were friends. She came to the castle when they were both ten. They grew up together. Even now she's left, I expect she cares for him."

"Strange how she leaves after all that time and comes back just for that," he said. He did not say she was jealous, but it was implied in his tone.

Guinevere had thought Morgana was jealous at first, then thought the idea was silly, and now had decided it did not matter much. But occasionally she strayed into wondering whether Morgana would have done this to Arthur and then abruptly stopped, pretending she had no idea.

Morgana had been her friend too and Guinevere knew that when she was loyal she was ferociously loyal; there was a time that she would have died for any of them and perhaps she still would. Guinevere liked to think so.

-o-

"Look at this," said Dylan, slapping a heavy tome down on the table before Morgana and giving her a grin which showed more teeth lost than retained. "It says something more of you."

Morgana reluctantly switched books and opened up the second as he instructed. She scanned the page and was disappointed. "I know what I look like. 'Raven-haired beauty', though, I like that."

"Flip over a page."

She read out loud. "_The fallen King is brought before her; presently she will take charge of him and bring him I saw not where for my vision ends thus, with Morgan and her ghastly black barge the only attendants to his death."_

Silently she read on. _His knights will have no constitution to watch their indomitable leader fall away as so many before._ She had seen almost exactly the same scene herself.

"He always calls you Morgan. Misheard your name the first time, I imagine. He doesn't even know Arthur's; he's only 'Uther's son' at most."

"Who wrote this?" Morgana had flicked back to the beginning but found no indication.

"Alberic of Myrddin. The most powerful Seer for centuries. Odd – usually it's women who have the Sight. He killed himself decades ago. Some think his visions drove him mad. After his death his sister collected what she could find of his scribblings together and here we have this book."

"Has it come true so far?"

"Every word. Though of course he doesn't give a timescale."

Lillian had tried before to explain to Morgana her how her visions could be accurate in a changeable future.

"The reason we can be sure about some events is that many paths lead to the same destination. All roads lead to Rome. We have to ensure that things get to where they're meant to be in the way we want. We still have choices to make, though sometimes for all our struggling nothing changes. Sometimes fate is inexorable. Do you see what I mean?"

Morgana had thought it over. "Not really," she had admitted. Lillian had laughed and told her it didn't matter. Morgana had however begun to realise why everyone had always been so infuriatingly vague about the future and her destiny; when you only saw flashes of things, it was difficult to piece them together and in any case they might not be what they seemed.

Lillian's Sight was extremely strong; she told Morgana that sometimes she saw events which were centuries in the future. "Very little has changed," she said. "Still no one's ever satisfied with anything." She wouldn't tell her any more.

Now Dylan was reaching over the table to find other passages that concerned Morgana. She recoiled as his greasy shirtsleeve flapped near her face.

_I hope you're working_. There was no sound but the voice buried its way stubbornly into Morgana's consciousness. Acracea watched them eyes from the high circular balcony, a pile of books cradled in her arms. Even though she did not speak out loud, there was a note of weariness in the sentiment.

Acracea's hair draped in glossy waves and her skin gleamed silkily under the candlelight, but the convincing veneer of youth and beauty was occasionally waived by a stoop or a wheeze in her voice she neglected to cover. Morgana knew she and Lillian were the oldest of the coven, but not how old exactly. The only time the illusion was shattered completely was when, lost in thought, her lips would tremble and pucker with fear, for the way death loomed so heavily for her was, Morgana realised, more than any lust for power, why Acracea was more staid and determined in her quest than any of the others. Her relative silence did not appear to lend itself to leadership until one considered how single-minded she was, how she might never waver in hopelessness.

_Perhaps there is something in here that explains how I become a Fay_ replied Morgana. Acracea seemed satisfied and travelled with unsteady steps to the desk Morgana knew was hidden behind the main bookshelf on that balcony.

"These are all things that've already happened," said Dylan. "I'm not sure there's anything new. It's hard when it's not chronological… There's a nice picture here, though."

There was a rough pen illustration of Morgana meeting Acracea. The colours were arrowed and labelled. It made Morgana smile.

-o-

"Morgana? You look down."

Morgana shrugged at Lillian and went back to reading. It was a poetry book, not recommended by Acracea of course but she was not up yet.

"Bad dreams?" Lillian took a seat opposite her.

"What else?" replied Morgana, setting the book down. "Arthur dying again."

"Hm. Always him."

"I see him in visions more than anyone else. I don't know why."

"I imagine an event in the future binds you together."

"In the future? But then it hasn't happened yet."

"I think you've just collided head-on with the point I'm trying to make. Some events are fixed and that's why we can see them. They're projected into the past somehow. In the same way, it would seem to me that something happens in the future to tie you to Arthur in the present."

"I have no idea whether that makes any sense or not," said Morgana.

"Backwards causality never fails on the bafflement front." Lillian seemed to examine her. "That's not all that's troubling you, is it?"

Morgana wished she could finish reading before Acracea told hr to do something more useful, but replied anyway. "Arthur dying, it's not all I saw. There was another vision, with another man. I don't know who it is. Red hair, bearded."

"What did you see?"

"He's gambling. A fight breaks out and a woman ends up dead. He doesn't seem to care much. Probably thinks, well, it's just a woman," she said with clear contempt.

Lillian touched her hand and Morgana tried not to draw it back.

"You and I are just women, but soon…"

"I'm not sure it will be soon. What if the Fay are just storybook characters that someone took too seriously? If it were possible, why would no one have done it before?"

"There are those who can't bear the thought of immortality. And a few who revel in it."

"I can't even conceive of it."

"Eternity?"

Morgana finally took her hand from Lillian's and fiddled with the pages of the book. "I can imagine a century. These poems were written a thousand years ago, and I understand that, but I can't think what it would be like to live for a thousand years. I-"

There was a loud giggle and Iastheir came around the corner of the bookcase, needlessly pressing her finger to her lips. Then Talfryn's head appeared from the other side and she squealed before running off again with him in pursuit. Morgana made a huffing noise.

"What?" asked Lillian.

"I remember… never mind."

Lillian's knowing smirk irritated her. "You're not old enough for reminiscing. Least you come with the original casing; no need for you to bewitch anyone's eyes. And if we succeed, you'll have all the time in the world."

"That's just it. The days go by, the sun goes up and down, but no matter how many times it goes round, nothing changes. People wait to die and be forgotten. We're probably never going to become Fays and if we do, what'll really change? We just shan't have the comfort of death."

Lillian's smirk was growing. "We are gloomy today, aren't we? Embrace your fate."

"What if people have misinterpreted their visions? Maybe I'm the wrong Morgana."

"Don't be silly. And let me assure you, try living for a few centuries – five or six perhaps – and cross my heart, never again you'll go moaning about the sun going round."

Morgana rather thought that Lillian was missing the point. She shook her head and went back to her poems.


	10. Chapter 10

-o-o-

**10.**

-o-o-

Four years almost to the day since Morgana had come to the coven, Acracea declared that their solution was complete. They had pieced together lore and legend and found what they were convinced must be the exact ritual. It was unspoken but accepted that Acracea would be first.

They spent several days painstakingly copying ancient patterns to produce an immense chalked symbol which sprawled across the rock floor of the largest cavern. In the centre was a golden goblet. Iastheir and Talfryn had filled it with water and cast a wordy enchantment over it.

Acracea had gone to fetch the final component, whatever that was. Morgana brushed her hands together to remove the chalk; ineffective as it was she used magic and her hands were clean and soft again. She was alarmed when Acracea returned with a child tied up and struggling in her arms, a boy about ten years old. His clothes were dirty and torn.

"What do we need him for?" asked Morgana, fearing the answer.

"There is a reason we do not always divulge everything to you." Acracea produced a knife from under her cloak. "You were always the one with the bleeding heart. But I'm sure you won't allow sentiment to come in the way of our prize."

"You can't sacrifice someone for this!"

"A blind waif who will hardly survive the next few years in exchange for immortality? For life there must be life given, Morgana, and this is quite the trade-off."

"I won't let you!" said Morgana, reaching out to wrestle the knife from her. The boy fell to the floor. She managed to get hold of the knife, but Acracea used her magic to push her up against the wall.

Lillian was watching the confrontation with an expression of interest. The others stood fixed and staring open-mouthed as Morgana flailed. She mustered her powers and managed to prise herself away from the wall. Acracea muttered enchantments, causing rocks to fall from above, all the while trying to force the blade out of Morgana's hand from a distance.

Morgana dodged the rocks and struggled to keep hold of the knife, before giving up and flinging it. It spun in the air and hit Acracea squarely in the chest. Morgana was shocked into silence as her friend collapsed on the ground.

As Acracea's strength dissipated, so did her beauty, until all that could be seen poking out from under the mountain of silvery cloth was a small pair of wrinkled hands and a wizened head.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Iastheir, who gave Morgana a petrified glance and then vanished. Talfryn disappeared a moment later, presumably to follow her.

The boy lay whimpering. Acracea's blood dribbled from her slackened body, making the chalk patterns run into one another. Dylan and Lillian shielded their eyes from the sudden burst of intense gold light emanating from the symbol.

The magic burned through Morgana's body, stinging and slicing at every inch of flesh, as though she might be rent into pieces from the sheer agony of it. The light half-blinded her but she could feel shards of rock still being shaken from above; she was sure the ceiling would give in at any moment.

She reached out to pick up the child and, with a pitying glance at the others, transported herself and the boy up to the clean air of the island just as the cavern collapsed in on itself.

She lay on the grass, quivering and breathless, her eyes watering until tears dripped down her face. The pain gradually filtered away, flames dissolving into smouldering remnants, into a low background thrum of power that she could easily ignore. The boy was lying next to her, wriggling, trying to free himself.

"Don't be afraid," said Morgana. She untied him and he scrambled back a few feet. "I won't hurt you, I promise. What's your name?"

He was terrified and didn't speak. She looked down at herself. She would hardly have known that anything was different but for that pleasurable thrum of magic that flowed through her still and an almost imperceptible sheen on her skin that she thought must be new.

"I'm Morgana. What's your name?" she repeated.

"Eadred," said the boy warily.

"If you tell me where you live, Eadred, I'll take you back home to your family."

"I don't live anywhere. I don't have a family."

"Acracea took you off the streets?"

The boy screwed his eyes up tightly, seemingly ashamed. "I was begging, miss."

"I don't live anywhere either now," said Morgana. "I thought those people were my friends, but…" But she searched and failed to find sympathy for them, though they must surely have been crushed by the cave-in. Something about this poor lost child tugged at her heart, though.

She had an idea. Now she was sure she possessed more magic than ever before. "Keep still," she said, touching her hands to his face. He flinched but didn't try to move away.

Morgana focussed and whispered a spell. Nothing happened. She tried again, concentrating on stitching the broken tissues back together.

Eadred blinked a few times. "Oh." His mouth dropped open.

"You can see?"

"I can see you… you're blurry." He reached out his hand and found her shoulder. "Thank you," he said earnestly.

Though it wasn't quite what she had hoped she would be able to do, Morgana found herself smiling. "Maybe we can find a place to stay together, you and I."

"I'd like that, miss."

-o-

They must make a curious couple, thought Morgana as they searched for the abandoned cottage she knew was around here somewhere: a lady in fine, flowing silks and her half-blind charge in tattered rags clinging to her hand.

The weather was baking hot, but she was not bothered by it, despite the way her fabric was sticking to her skin and should have caused at least some discomfort. Eadred started to complain more vociferously that his legs were tired and it was too hot, so she scooped him up in her arms and carried him. He really was very small and probably younger than she had assumed, she decided as he rested his head on her shoulder.

Once they had found the cottage, Eadred settled down on the grubby mattress and began to moan instead that he was thirsty. The place was furnished; Accolon had told her of how a couple accused of witchcraft were dragged out of here kicking and screaming.

Morgana went to fetch some water from the river – it was easier to clean water with her magic than to conjure it. She splashed some on her face. It cooled her skin but she felt no relief, not having been hot in the first place. Curious, she took a sharp rock and made a small cut on her arm, watching with fascination as her body healed itself before her eyes. The cut had not hurt at all either.

-o-

"You have many faces. None of them's going to fool me." Talfryn would have recognised that slow, stupidly graceful walk anywhere, but in the guise of a raggedy child it was especially incongruous.

"Don't know what you mean," said the girl, pretending to wipe her nose on her sleeve for emphasis.

"I'll lose my patience soon, Iastheir." His slight doubts were cast aside when the girl twitched at her name. "Why are you bothering to hide?"

"After one of my friends turns out to be a murderer… well two, really."

"You know I'd never hurt you. And I don't think Dylan and Lillian will be doing any hurting ever again. I've been looking. Mostly for you."

"People don't even know," whined Iastheir. "When I'm like this" – she gestured at her juvenile form – "they don't bother to keep their secrets and nobody's talking. No one realises that there's a Fay walking among us."

A frown crawled its way over Talfryn's handsome features. "She might be dangerous. People should know."

"And then we should hide for good. Morgana might already want us dead. This is going to be a miserable existence." She looked down forlornly at her shabby dress.

"I don't think it has to be," he replied with a cautious smile.

"No?"

"Strength in numbers."

"Oh."

"You think-"

Her form shifted swiftly to one of radiant beauty, which was only increased when she smiled happily at him. She reached out to take his hand. "Let's tell the world."

-o-

It did not take long for Morgana to realise that her power grew even yet. The low murmur of magic became more noticeable, transforming into a constant, unchanging sensation of something like delight, which nonetheless annoyed her; for all it was pleasurable, its presence dulled every other physical sensation. She knew no pain or discomfort. The thin sheen on her skin had not merely persisted but developed into an opalescent veneer that lifted her appearance to that of something altogether unearthly.

Within a few weeks she was able to heal Eadred's sight completely and the way in which he adored her unreservedly was quite a consolation for the drawbacks of her new-found powers.

"I'm going out for a moment," she told him one evening. He was sitting and shifting coloured stones about on the floor in a game to which he only knew the rules. Soon she would have to find them somewhere to live where he would be able to play with other children.

"Okay, Mama." Her name had descended by degrees through _Morgana_ to _Mor'na_ to _Mama_, and she found she was fine with that. She was sure she could have loved Eadred like her own, once, felt a bond as she had with that poor druid boy, though she knew that Eadred had no magic. Though she would always be careful, through magic if necessary, that she had no child of her own, she had in more innocent days looked forward to motherhood, if no other part of marriage.

She could have watched the castle in the way Iastheir had shown her. But it was not the same as to stand here at the edge of the town, to feel the breeze that made the crimson flags ripple, to smell the smoke that swirled from the houses to gather as a roof-level miasma from which Camelot rose like a goddess from sea-foam, grand and glorious above the dirty thatched roofs. Morgana did not shiver at the cold nor cough at the smog, merely looked out at the scene before her and thought.

Her aim until recently had been to seek power and to find out about her supposed destiny, but with no more power to be had and her greatest source of information destroyed, there was a temptation to return Camelot. But even if Arthur welcomed her, he had no need of her; he had a wife and an advisor and what other use could she be?

Sighing, she descended from the hill into the town, changing her clothes to appear at least a little less conspicuous. She had never tried to disguise herself with magic; at first she had not known how, then she had had no use for it, holed up as she had been on the island, and now it hardly mattered if someone recognised her. She could be miles away in the blink of an eye.

The sun had set a few hours ago and the streets were almost deserted. A man perched on the sloping side of an old wagon, strumming on what looked like a bizarre combination of a lute and a lyre.

"Made it myself, miss," he said when he noticed her interest. He scratched at his temple. "New here, are you?"

"Passing through."

He nodded. "Fancy a song?"

Morgana leant back against the wooden fence that bordered the house behind her. "Do you have any ballads?"

"Feel like wallowing, eh?"

"Very much."

"Well then, you're in luck. I know hundreds."

"Your favourite, then."

"As you please, miss." He winked at her and started to sing.

He had a tuneful voice and his strange instrument a soft, pleasant timbre and the song was one of unresolved love. Morgana listened politely and willed herself to be affected.

"That was beautiful," she said when he had finished, though she had not been moved.

"I try my hardest, miss"

"How much?"

"Oh, only the pleasure of looking 'pon such a pretty face for the duration, nothin' more."

She was about to insist, but her attention was suddenly caught by a small but raucous group of men a short way away, one of whom had the most distinctive bright red hair.

"Excuse me," she said to the man on the wagon, who was still leering at her, "but I think I see someone I know."

-o-

Arthur clutched at his head and tried to suppress the urge to pull out his hair. The cacophony of voices was unrelenting.

"Lady Morgana-"

"It's Lavain, sire."

"We were just out for a drink…"

"He knew that!"

"Silence!" shouted Arthur. The knights were quiet at last.

"Now," he said, "if just one of you could speak at a time. Start again."

The four of them glanced nervously amongst themselves and Tristan stepped forward when it was clear none of the others would.

"We were coming back and Lavain was… a bit merry."

"He was dancing," muttered Gawain.

"Shush, brother," Gareth muttered back.

Tristan tried to clear his throat and ending up coughing and wheezing. Gareth slapped him on the back.

"Ahem. Thank you." Tristan cast about for the thread of his story, even though he'd only just started it. "Yes, we left and then the Lady Morgana appeared. Of course, only I noticed, having been in your father's service. These boys had no idea who she was, nor did Lavain." He stopped and seemed to search for inspiration again.

"She pulled out a knife," said Gareth in an effort to be helpful. "A long knife."

"She pulled the sword from his belt," said Gawain, "not a knife."

"It was dark," said Tristan. "Hard to see. But Morgana said he had killed a woman and she was acting in the name of justice. She had the knife to his throat."

"The sword," muttered Gawain.

"He killed a woman?" asked Arthur. "When? What did she mean?"

"I don't know, my lord," said Tristan.

"We kill a lot in our line of work," said Gawain and his brothers glared at him.

"Then the sword vanished," continued Tristan. "Thanks to Merlin, of course."

"Merlin was there? Why in God's name am I not questioning Merlin instead?"

"He went to the library, my lord," chimed in Gaheris. "Morgana said something like 'Fear Morgana the Fay!' or something-"

"I don't think she said _that_," interrupted Gawain.

"-and Merlin, when we came back, told us to tell you the story, so we are. He said the situation was desperate."

"Urgent," corrected Gawain. Arthur pointed to him.

"You," he said. "Fetch me Merlin."

"Me?"

"You. Now."

"Yes, my lord," he said sulkily and slouched off.

"Right," said Arthur. "Tristan. Get on with the damn story."

"Well now, where was I, my lord? Oh yes, Merlin. He was about to do some kind of magic, but he wasn't fast enough."

"Morgana killed Lavain with a spell?"

"No, my lord, she, er…"

"She twisted his head around," said Gaheris, looking slightly pale. "We heard his neck snap."

No one spoke for a moment.

"And then?" Arthur's words sounded small and tinny in the sudden silence of the hall.

"She said those words to Merlin about how people would know her name. Then she went." Tristan rubbed his palms together anxiously. "She looked sad, my lord. She didn't relish it."

Arthur's head was in his hands. "Oh, Lavain," he mumbled. Then, more softly: "Oh, Morgana."

The knights were standing about awkwardly and wondering what if anything to say to their King when Gawain returned with Merlin. At their arrival Arthur sat bolt upright on his throne. His face gave way to no emotion.

"Merlin. We need a council meeting. As soon as we can gather them."

"Yes, sire."

Arthur's gaze flitted over the available knights. "Gaheris. Find a messenger. Astolat must be informed immediately. Make sure he finds out where Lavain's family wishes him to be buried. Tristan – no, Gareth. Double the night guard tonight. Gawain… make yourself useful somehow. And Tristan, sleep off the drink. Off you go."

"Yes, my lord," they chorused with varying degrees of resentment and the room emptied itself until Arthur was alone. His head dropped back into his hands. "Oh dear," he thought to himself, "this is going to be a long night."

-o-

"Mama? Why're you shaking? Do you feel the cold?"

"You should be in bed now, Eddy." She was shivering. It was one thing to kill, and she had killed before, but to feel invincible as she did it made it all seem so unfair, though she was convinced she had been justified.

Eadred clambered into his bed. She had made him some clean blue sheets and more pillows than he could possibly need. "Has someone hurt you?" he asked.

"No, no. I'm fine. And I don't feel the cold, not really."

They had told her she was destined for greatness, but what greatness? Was the choice to be a murderer or to fall through the gaps of history? What scared her most of all was how little she had thought about taking his life, how quick it had all been. One moment there had been a pulse fluttering beneath her fingers and then-

"I do," said Eadred.

It took her a moment to work out what he was talking about. "Another blanket?"

"Yes please."

-o-

"So," Merlin concluded, "that's all I've found about Fays."

A hush descended upon the room. The council had convened at the Round Table and now each man was doing his best not to be the first to speak.

"Immortal," said Lamorak, unable to bear the silence any longer. "With stronger magic than any Camelot has to offer."

"She doesn't have a fatal flaw, by any chance?" asked Arthur's cousin Cador with a nervous chuckle.

"Unless you count loneliness, the stories don't seem to mention anything." Merlin looked to Arthur. "But she had a reason for what she did. I'm not sure she would go after others."

"Her reason, if I understand correctly, was that he killed someone once," said Lamorak.

"Yes," said Merlin, "that's right."

"And who among us, or among the knights of Camelot, has not?"

Across the table, Geoffrey of Monmouth started to put up his hand and then clearly thought better of it as Arthur stood to address them all.

"It'll be dawn soon. Get some rest, gentlemen. I need to talk to Merlin alone."

When the others had gone, he spoke tiredly to him. "There's nothing we can do, is there?"

"Arthur."

"We can't stop her. If she wants us dead, that's how it'll be."

"Then, sire, I would take some comfort in that we're still alive."

Arthur managed a faint smile. "You do have a way of looking at things, Merlin…"

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"I know… I know you didn't want to spy on her before, but I think we have to now. She doesn't think of us as friends any more."

"No," said Arthur, kneading at his forehead, "I don't think she does."

"She could be watching us this very moment."

"You know how to…"

"Of course. I'm not as stupid as I look."

"Well, that would hardly be possible, now, would it?"

Merlin conjured a bowl of water into existence and, dipping a finger in, spoke an enchantment. Sparks of gold threaded their way across from where he was touching to form a thin web across the surface of the water.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

"It's supposed to be showing her," said Merlin, confused.

"I think we may have to review that part about being as stupid as- wait."

When Merlin had removed his finger, the threads had begun to wriggle about and reform themselves.

"Maybe she can block it," said Arthur. As he spoke the threads had spelt out words on the surface, words in an ancient language he couldn't read. "Er, what does that say?"

Merlin removed the bowl with a disgruntled wave. "It said 'Nice try'"


	11. Chapter 11

-o-o-

**11.**

-o-o-

"The people are scared of her, you know," said Merlin, not mentioning her name.

"How do they know?" asked Arthur.

Merlin shrugged. "They talk. Guards eavesdrop, servants gossip. There are rumours about her."

"Rumours?"

"That Lavain's not the only one to die by her hand. That she's not selective. It's probably nonsense."

"Probably," said Arthur. That he should doubt at all made him feel sick.

-o-

Morgana had realised that it would be best for Eadred if she gave him up somehow, and she wanted him to have a good starting point for his adolescence – he was be about eleven now, by her reckoning – and what better place was there than Camelot? She settled on Merlin as her target. It might be possible to manipulate Guinevere, and unlike Arthur might be moved by a tale of the boy's plight, but she did not exert the same influence over him as Merlin did. Wearing Arthur down directly and working on his guilt might prove fruitful, but he would be cautious, suspicious – no, simple, guileless Merlin would be best.

She tracked his movements for a few days and waited for an opportune moment. Finally, just as darkness was falling and shrouding the castle in motionless gloom, she saw him walking alone under the cloisters that faced the nearer gardens.

She appeared but rapidly concealed herself behind a column as a servant came from the opposite direction, lighting the lamps as he must do every evening. Morgana cast a spell to turn her robes from blue to inky black and when he had passed, peered out from her hiding place to find Merlin looking directly at her. If he was shocked there was no indication of it.

"What are you doing here?"

She stepped out fully into the light. If it had been Arthur she would have commented that that was no way to speak to a lady; Merlin probably had no time for trading insults or sarcasm, so she cut to the point.

"I need your help. There's a boy I've taken in. He was poor and blind, but I've cared for him and healed him. But he's orphaned and has nowhere to go." She swallowed hard on purpose and moulded her face into the very picture of concern. "I was hoping that a position could be found for him. A page, a kitchen boy… it doesn't matter."

"And you think that I would help you? When you murdered Lavain before my eyes?"

Morgana had expected resistance. She wanted to justify herself, but the Lavain issue was irrelevant. "Condemn me if you will; my boy is blameless."

"There are many who are poor and orphaned and crippled. He's lucky to have someone who cares. We can't take him."

She did not believe that he could have no sympathy and indeed he seemed uncomfortable at his own words, but he was clearly not the blithe, trusting boy of earlier years.

"He's suffered so," she said. "And he would be diligent, efficient, far more suited to the staff than others have been."

Merlin seemed to take this as a personal dig, though it had not been intended as one. Those guileless eyes smouldered, and she realised she had blundered.

"And why should I not invite one of the Fay's lackeys to plot so _efficiently_ beneath us? I'm not falling for your act, Morgana."

"He's just a boy!" she cried, but as she did she saw Merlin raise a hand – perhaps for self-preservation from some perceived imminent attack, she considered later. Her response was certainly in that vein.

With no more than a thought Merlin was flung back several yards to land with a thud on his side, his body having twisted in mid-air as one shoulder collided with a column.

Morgana was surprised at herself – such power at a mere thought! – but had not meant him any harm. She saw him raise his head, so at least he was conscious. The shouts echoing along nearby corridors and the sound of curious hands unlatching windows was enough to stop her checking how exactly he was injured, but back in her cottage she watched the ensuing scene until she was sure he would be all right.

Eadred tugged on her dress after a minute and insisted on showing her the charcoal pictures he had drawn on the floor. With a final glance to Arthur helping Merlin up and dusting him off, she went to admire them with all necessary enthusiasm.

-o-

Merlin blinked repeatedly. His head had fortunately missed the floor, but he was startled from the attack. That new knight – Dinadan, was it? – crouched next to him and was saying something, but Merlin was not paying any attention. Behind Dinadan there were worried faces and a few whispers carried to Merlin's ears:

"The Lady Morgana again… it's frightful, absolutely frightful."

"To daze Merlin! Imagine!"

"I didn't see… did anyone see?"

"Ah, here comes his Highness. He'll sort this out, he will."

The last mutter was Dinadan's. Merlin saw Arthur's hand before his face and gripped it, pulling himself to his feet a little painfully. Arthur brushed the dust from his back and glared meaningfully at the onlookers until they scattered.

Arthur led Merlin to an empty room and sat him down in a heavily cushioned chair, having ascertained that his complaints were restricted to widespread bruising and a severe loss of dignity.

"Tell me what happened, then," said Arthur in an agitated manner, standing although there was more than one seat free.

"There's a boy, apparently, that Morgana's looking after. She wanted him to have a position at the castle."

"And she attacked? Unprovoked?"

Merlin shrugged. Arthur sat and crossed his feet in front of him, leaning back against the chair.

"You don't think we should've taken him?" asked Merlin. "He would've had to live here too."

"No," said Arthur, "no, you were right. How strange, though, if he's not fictitious. Her son, do you think?"

"No. Well, she could have been lying. What's important is that she could use magic so strong without so much as a word or even a twitch of a muscle as far as I could see. We still don't know much about the Fay, but what I read about their magic surpassing that of ordinary humans… that seems to be true."

"And she can't die, or feel pain? Of all the people to make an enemy of." Arthur tipped his head back towards the ceiling and sighed. "No luck at finding us a Seer yet?"

"As I said before, they're rare, and they can't control what-"

"Yes. Keep trying." Arthur chewed at his lip. "She's not even our worst threat. I've just had word from Orkney. The crop failures are extended to the very corners of the kingdom. I can grovel to Bors for aid, but Albion can't live off Gaul's excess for long."

"I'm sorry," mumbled Merlin.

"I'm not implicating you. I know you've done all you can."

"I could-"

"I won't have you exhausting yourself. If Morgana…" He trailed off and looked to his feet as if they could give him courage. "I need you to be prepared."

"Of course. I think I may have worked out a way to prevent her from watching us."

"Good," said Arthur. "Now, I think we both need some rest."

"Yes, sire." Merlin set his hand on Arthur's shoulder as he passed. He hesitated at the door. "Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"It's all right to…" He searched for the right phrase and found none. "She was our friend. And more to you. I can't hate her or what she's done or might have done. But we mustn't compromise. She's dangerous."

Arthur said nothing.

"Goodnight," said Merlin hurriedly and the door creaked shut behind him.

-o-

Arthur put his arms around Guinevere and kissed her warmly. "I've got you a new horse," he said. "She's beautiful."

Guinevere frowned at him. "Going away again, are you?"

"No, not this time. I just thought you'd like her."

"Good." She kissed him.

"Maybe I'll have to soon though. Probably soon."

"The uprisings." She shook her head.

"I wish I could stay for you, that I had none of these responsibilities to worry about."

"No you don't."

He smiled. "No, I don't, but I do hate to leave you. I love you like… like…" He huffed. "I'm no good with words."

"Maybe not," she said, leaning into him and reaching up to touch his face, "but there are some other things you're very good at."

They kissed again and Arthur's hands tangled in her hair.

"You're right there," he said and she giggled.

-o-

Eadred trailed behind Morgana, kicking up the dry earth into dust in the air and watching it as it settled back down again.

"Come on, it's getting dark."

"It's not," he said, though he had noticed that the drifting dirt was harder to spot in the dimness. He kicked the ground harder and squealed as his foot hit solid rock. "I don't know why you can't come. We could all stay together." He sneezed pathetically as the dust reached his nose and then flopped down on the ground.

"Eadred, please."

"I don't want to go. I hate Enid."

"You've never met her. She's a very kind lady."

"I know I'll hate her. And she won't like me." He crossed his thin arms in front of him and jutted his chin out defiantly at Morgana.

"She certainly won't if you act all contrary like that. Do what she tells you-"

"You never ordered me about like that. Why can't you come?"

Morgana relented and sat down by him, clearly trying to exude patience and failing. "Look, Eddy," she began in a tight voice, "there are a lot of people who don't trust me, because they've heard a lot of things about me, some of which aren't even true."

"Like what?"

"It doesn't matter, they're just nasty rumours that have been spread about. But I don't want anyone to associate you with them."

"What's 'associate'?"

"I mean I don't want them to think you're a bad person because of me."

"You're not bad, Mama. You're the only person who's been kind to me."

"Not everyone knows that, sweetheart." He wrinkled his nose. "What is it?"

"I'm not a sweetheart," he said with the beginnings of a smile.

She gave a genuine laugh and stood. Eadred sat and screwed up his face in thought.

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Will you come to see me sometimes?"

She hesitated a moment. "I shan't be able to if you don't get yourself up and walking."

He grumbled some more but got up and this time walked alongside her.

When they reached Enid's small cottage, she looked wary of Morgana and Eadred wondered just what his Mama had said to convince her.

He yawned. They were talking about boring things, the way adults did, just like the people in Morgana's water bowl.

"You ain't noticed the drought? That people are starving all around? I can give your boy a roof over his head, but-"

"You need it to rain?" asked Morgana.

"Not just me, darling. I don't trust the King not to make a royal mess of all this, either. The House of Pendragon's nothin' but bad news. To think, once it was only Camelot had reason to fear."

Morgana knelt down by Eadred to kiss him goodbye and tell him to be good.

"Mama…" He waved him arms at her fruitlessly as she straightened up, gave him a last smile and walked away.

A purple bolt of lightning split the sky starkly in two; in the distance growled a heavy roll of thunder.

Enid stared in astonishment at Morgana, by now a speck at the end of the road. Eadred eyed her suspiciously for half a second, then clung to her for comfort as they were drenched by the rain which poured suddenly and violently over their heads.

-o-

Merlin had found a way to prevent Morgana from watching the castle, but she could still see Arthur in the shallow bowl of water.

The crops had failed for a second year. The prolonged food shortages had sparked rivalries and caused old feuds to flare up. There was something of a civil war, except no one knew exactly who they were fighting or what for. Arthur was charged with keeping the peace, but that was an impossible task. She'd seen him fight pointlessly all over the land, but today, she was fairly sure, was when he would almost die and she would save him. She was not sure when she had started to trust her visions so much.

And there it was – Arthur's horse was struck down and he was wounded across the chest. She waited for his attacker to realise whom he had injured and run panicking.

Outside the sun was rising and the sky burned a furious crimson. Morgana walked over the battlefield, lifting her skirts up delicately as she stepped between the remains strewn bloodily across it, searching for the injured King. After a few moments she found him, lying under a corpse which she carelessly tossed aside. He was at least partially conscious, she thought. It was a surprise that his remaining men had not found and recovered him yet, though she supposed that unlike her they had not seen him fall, and they were in dense forest.

There was dirt drying and crusting on Arthur's skin. He was bloody and sweaty and glorious. Giving in to a sudden impulse, she kissed a line down his cheek. His skin tasted tangy and possibly disgusting, but the fact that the taste registered as something other than bland was enough that she kept going, sucking a trail down his neck. His pulse ran strong and slow under her tongue. She wondered if it was residual affection for him or just the sweat and grime on his skin that made this so satisfying.

"Morgana…?" he mumbled, unsure. Perhaps he was dazed.

Suddenly she remembered why she had come here. She quickly put her hand over the gash in Arthur's skin and healed it, then disappeared back to the cottage before he woke up completely.

She sat on the floor and stared at her hand for a moment. She licked the blood tentatively off her palm. It failed to make an impact on her senses.

Morgana thought that she ought to cry in frustration or hopelessness, but could not. Acracea and the others had yearned for this transcendence, for this horrifying disconnect from the mundane. Morgana could always feel that undercurrent of power running through her, that gentle insistent reminder that she was more than human, more than other living beings.

Perhaps, she admitted, it was time to come back down to their level.

-o-

Several of his knights were injured and Sir Lamorak, surpassed in skill only by Lancelot and the King himself, was dead. He was lucky to be alive himself and he still wondered how he was. Arthur had never been in less of a mood to deal with silly whisperings about ghosts.

"Who purports to have seen this spectre, then?" he asked Merlin.

"Some of the kitchen staff. They say it appears for a few moments, looks lost, then disappears. It never says a word."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. This all sounded preposterous. "They really believe there's a ghost?"

"Stranger things have happened," said Merlin. "You've seen enough not to rule out the supernatural."

"I suppose so," he said. "But this ghost isn't malicious?"

"No."

"Let them gossip then. I haven't time for this."

-o-

They were in the throne room discussing tactics when Vivian appeared suddenly before them. Arthur reached for his sword automatically but Merlin stayed his hand.

"I know her," he said. "She's a friend to us."

Her huge brown eyes were desperate and pleading as she asked for their hospitality. "I have nowhere else to go due to… unfortunate circumstances. Please, Merlin, your Highness, take pity."

"Are you sure we can trust her?" asked Arthur.

"She told me to find Excalibur. She's a Seer, Arthur."

"And there I was thinking you'd come up with a bright idea all by yourself." He deliberated. "We are in need of a Seer. Fine, you can stay. What's your name?"

"Vivian, sire." She curtseyed. "Thank you, a thousand thank yous."

"Where are your things?" asked Merlin.

"I have nothing but the clothes I stand in. I'm at your mercy," she said to Merlin rather than Arthur for some reason.

"We weren't making much progress anyway," said Arthur. "Maybe you can find Vivian a room and conjure up some essentials, literally or otherwise." He turned to her. "You seem to have quite some magic yourself."

"All my magic, as it is, will be at your disposal, sire." Vivian smiled at them both and caught Merlin's eyes for a long moment.

"All right then," he said and was about to go with her when Arthur grabbed him by the collar and whispered in his ear.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, Merlin; she's far too pretty for you." He winked to show he was joking, but Merlin was mortified nonetheless to realise his glances were not as surreptitious as he had hoped.

"Thank you for persuading him," said Vivian as a couple of servants prepared a room for her.

"Arthur's an honourable man. He would have helped you anyway, I'm sure."

"You don't have to let him have all the glory." She smiled wickedly and pressed her lips to his cheek, letting them linger. "I hope I can repay you. I am so very grateful."

Merlin became aware that his mouth was hanging open. "Well, it was nothing, really. Actually, it was something, wasn't it? I mean, we don't have to completely forget it."

"No, I'm sure I shan't. Perhaps, if it's not too much to ask, you could teach me some of your magic? I know I could learn a lot from you. I need to be able to defend myself in future." She gave him a forlorn look.

"Of course. What exactly happened to you?"

"I'd rather not talk about it." She suddenly appeared distant. "Well, thank you yet again. I expect I'll see you later."

"I'll look forward to it," said Merlin.

-o-

Arthur stayed to clear up the papers while Merlin saw to Vivian. She would definitely provide him with enough ammunition to tease Merlin for weeks.

"Arthur." He whirled round but couldn't see anyone. He recognised the voice, but thought it must be his imagination. Then a familiar figure appeared almost in the same place as Vivian had. "There you are. I've been looking for you."

"Morgana?" It was unmistakably her, beautiful as ever, though her usual cool elegance was replaced by something more like radiance. He was not in the least surprised that she had been taken for a ghost. Her skin was pale and pearly like always, starkly contrasting with her long black curls, but now there was something else there; she was virtually shining with preternatural energy. The overall effect was of some ethereal being and if he had not known her he might have been taken in too.

Morgana put her hand on his arm.

"What are-" His question was cut off as everything blurred around him and then gradually came back into focus. They were now standing inside a stone building.

Arthur looked around at the intricately carved walls. He recognised this place. He could have pointed out every faded bloodstain. "Why have you brought me here?"

"We needed to speak privately," said Morgana, moving away and letting go of him.

He was sure she was being obtuse on purpose. "No. Why _here_?"

"We all have our blemishes, Arthur. Even the King. Sometimes it does us good to be reminded that we're not infallible." Morgana looked up at him, pleading.

"What is it that you want from me?" he asked, still disconcerted at being inside the temple.

"I want us to put aside our differences and be friends again," she said, as though they had fallen out over a ruined dress or a hidden crown. "I want things to be the way they were."

Here was his childhood friend, his first love, asking for reconciliation, but things simply weren't that easy these days. "I don't think that's possible," he said, regretting the words as soon as they were spoken.


	12. Chapter 12

-o-o-

**12.**

-o-o-

Morgana gaped at Arthur. Why should he be so weak except suddenly for when it came to her?

"You murdered Lavain," he said.

"He deserved it. I saw him kill someone. The same woman twice, in fact."

"You've committed the same crime as you condemn him for."

She shrugged. "You slaughter hundreds in battle for the crime of disagreeing with you."

"It's not the same."

"You killed Mordred."

"Accidentally."

Arthur used to be the one person who would always listen to Morgana and do as she said, but despite her physical connection to him she could not persuade him now; the spite was enough to overwhelm the delirious feeling of power and fill up the emptiness inside her until she boiled over with ire.

"I didn't come to argue over our respective faults. You're no better than I am, whatever you claim, yet you have the temerity to make me beg for forgiveness? I know you, Arthur; I see everything you do. I saw you disobey your father's wishes in magic and marriage and for what? A useless conjuror and a wife who steals away with your best friend?"

She was reverting to her old taunts, but they were effective. Arthur's expression was like a blow to her stomach. It pierced through her smothering blanket of insipid bliss and cut straight into her heart. It was not a pleasant feeling as such, but it was certainly a feeling.

"Merlin is not-"

"Compared to me he is nothing," said Morgana, wringing more enjoyment out of this encounter than she had expected.

"He is-"

"The greatest warlock Albion has ever seen. He has nothing on my power. Nothing."

He looked at her wearily. "I thought you had come to reconcile, not to insult."

"Aren't they much the same when it comes to us?"

He ignored her question. "If you are so astoundingly powerful, why do you spend your time in petty schemes to aggravate me when you could rid the land of drought and famine? Or is this another way to engineer my demise?"

She laughed, but in pity for him, not in humour. "You're serious? This is all my fault? Find a woman and blame her for your inability-"

"Why not?"

She sighed. "Your people are turning against each other and admit it, Arthur, you're less than powerless to stop them. It's not your fault, it's just the way things are, but blaming it on me won't help anyone."

"You could have helped. For all your boasting of your magic you haven't lifted a finger to help the people, though they're dying all around of starvation."

"Maybe I am powerful enough now. But more have died of violence than starvation, haven't they? You know that. And whatever magic I possess I can't stop them fighting. I can't stop them killing each other. And neither can you." She paused to drink in the crushed look on his face he was failing to disguise. "The famine will be over within a week. Galahad is already returning with the Grail. Of course, that alone can't restore peace. Believe me, Arthur, your demise needs no engineering on my part. You manage pretty well all by yourself."

She gave Arthur one last look over and vanished back to her cottage.

-o-

"Stop it," said Arthur as Merlin started to rap his fingers on the table yet again.

"Stop what?" said Merlin obliviously, still tapping anxiously on the polished oak.

Arthur reached over to grab his hand. "That."

"Oh. Sorry." He folded his arms in front of him instead.

Arthur blinked hard and rubbed his hand over his face.

"Gwen'll be fine," said Merlin unhelpfully.

Arthur was about to reply irritably when the physician entered. He stood up, knocking the chair over and ignoring it.

"How is she?" he asked, and with no instant response repeated "Tarquin? How is she?"

The physician smiled at him. "She's in good health, my lord. The best of health."

"She didn't appear so this morning," he replied testily.

"No, my lord, but I believe that her Highness' symptoms are not indicative of illness." He paused to twitch and scratch at his nose as if could aid his thought. "I believe, my lord, I am in the honoured position of telling you – oh, I hope I'm not mistaken – that this very minute the line of Pendragon may be seeing the beginnings of its continuation."

Arthur stood stock still as Merlin clapped him heartily on the shoulder. "Arthur! What a gift! The Grail, the end of the drought, and now this! Do you suppose it's the Grail's influence? Oh, but what matter… Arthur?"

The King's shocked expression did not change, but he did murmur a response. "Yes, a gift. I had almost given up hope for a son."

"Well," said Tarquin, "a son, yes, perhaps, or perhaps a daughter. But now we know your wife is, my lord, is bearing children, let us all hope for a son, now or later. Now or later, my lord."

"Yes." Arthur set the chair right again and sat, staring into space. "Yes, now or later."

-o-

Lancelot had felt guilty when he was betraying Arthur, but it was nothing to the torment of Guinevere's unhappiness; and she had been desperately unhappy at times, though she would only ascribe it to her own faults.

He had relieved her unhappiness and thought it the right thing to do, until he had learnt of her confinement. Then his carefully constructed justifications had become starkly ridiculous to him. More was in danger than his reputation, or Guinevere's, or Arthur's. With the affair and more especially with a child of doubtful lineage it was Camelot itself that was in a precarious position. So here he was at Astolat, watching Elaine smile shyly at him over a banquet in his own honour. His sense of duty had triumphed over his need to see Guinevere happy and he wondered if he should be proud of that.

It would be no hardship to marry Elaine. He had not embellished in describing her to Guinevere. He found himself attracted to Elaine and admired her in every respect, though had no urge to comfort or protect her. Lancelot planned to stay at the castle a few weeks before discussing the matter with her father; perhaps proximity would foster love. If not, he could consider it penance to please Elaine with his favour. He was as sure of her love for him as he was of his own for Guinevere.

-o-

The baby was three days old before Arthur decided it was time to see her. His disappointment in a daughter rather than a son shrunk almost to insignificance next to a more important and as of yet unresolved question. He was not entirely sure he wished to know yet, but there would be suspicions if he neglected to see the girl for much longer.

It was Tarquin who brought the tiny infant, swaddled in red silk. "Princess Edith, my lord, here she is. A most beautiful child, if I may say it, most beautiful."

Arthur leant forward in his throne and took her. He looked into her pale, rosy-cheeked face, feeling a great measure of relief; not total relief, for that was prevented by the doubt that he had had, the doubt that her skin would be a deep tan and her hair thick and dark. She made small mewling noises but he said nothing to her.

"What of Guinevere?"

"Her Highness is resting yet, my lord, but I don't believe there's any reason for concern."

Arthur kissed his daughter's forehead and passed her back to Tarquin, who stroked her downy hair and tickled her cheek. "Most beautiful, my lord."

"She is. Tell my wife I shall visit her tomorrow."

"Yes, my lord." Tarquin exited, cooing and speaking nonsense to the wriggling bundle of crimson in his arms.

When Arthur came to his wife the next evening, her maid answered the door and curtseyed. "My lord."

"Is Guinevere asleep?"

"No, my lord." She stood aside to let him pass, her head still bowed.

"Thank you, Lettice," he said, smiling at Guinevere, who sat upon the edge of the bed. "You're excused."

She gave another curtsey. "Sire. My lady."

Arthur sat by Guinevere and tried hard to think of something to say. He heard Letty shut the door behind her.

"All that bowing and curtseying and then to be ordered about," he said. "I don't know how the servants cope. How you coped."

"Some people like the simplicity of being told what to do. And not to be noticed isn't always bad. Sometimes I yearn for that." She smiled at him. "But then you buy me a new riding-coat…"

Arthur smiled back at her. "If you like, I could order you about a bit more." It was meant for a joke, but it fell flat. Morgana would have laughed, he thought, and he felt oddly for a second that he might cry. Morgana would have teased him back. Guinevere, not having responded to his words, simply reached across to hug him. Sometimes he thought she loved him far too well.

-o-

Letty entered the small room she shared with her twelve-year-old sister, who sat at a desk with a book she had liberated from the library, copying out sentences in clumsy handwriting. Mabel was always trying to educate herself; if a manservant could become an advisor and a maidservant Queen, she was sure she could be a keeper of records. But she greeted her sister with heavy expectancy of something more lively than endless dates and dry accounts.

"I hope you bring gossip," she said.

"The King paid my mistress a visit," said Letty in a bored tone, settling in a chair opposite her and unlacing her shoes.

"And?"

"I don't know. I left before they even spoke."

"No eavesdropping then?"

Letty gave her an appalled look. Mabel sucked ruminatively at her fingers.

"He hardly visited her during her confinement, did he?"

"No, not much. But you know he's been away."

"Now he's seen the baby."

"Yes." Letty picked up her shoes and placed them neatly in a corner.

"And now he's visiting her."

"Yes."

"Maybe it's because when…" Mabel's half-formed thought was truncated by Letty's glare from across the room.

All the servants knew of Lancelot and Guinevere, or suspected, or the thought had crossed their mind, but to speak of the affair directly would be blasphemy against their beloved King, their King who was fair and brave and virtuous. "And handsome," Mabel would have added with a high-pitched giggle had she been interviewed on the subject.

Even Letty laid her principal loyalties with Arthur. Guinevere was sweet and loving even in her betrayal, and her maidservant would stand by her through a scandal, but for so many years had Uther's name been synonymous with tyranny and Arthur's with hope that it was engrained indelibly in her mind – Arthur was their salvation.

Though there were troubles close to home and far afield, Arthur would remain faultless throughout, even as the kingdom tore itself apart beneath him.

-o-

Vivian wove her way between various parties on her way across the hall. Most were trying, subtly or otherwise, to catch the conversation of that central foursome: Lancelot, now a married man, though you would not have known it for the way he stared at the Queen; her Majesty, gaze fixed conscientiously on her husband; Lancelot's bride, the Fair Elaine, living up to her title even through the sombre cast of her features; and the King himself, looking very much as if would rather be anywhere else in the world.

Though the group was obviously the focus of the room's attention, Vivian found Merlin and tugged on his sleeve, leaning up to whisper to him: "This is a bit uncomfortable."

When his brow creased – you weren't meant to point these things out! – she whispered again, her breath catching against his earlobe.

"Uncomfortably hot, is what I mean. Fancy a stroll?"

She led him over to the gardens, where they walked along the perimeter of one of the larger quadrangles. A three-branched candlestick floated to their left, by Merlin's shoulder.

"I could have gone for an orb. But candlelight's prettier, don't you think?"

"Oh, much," said Vivian, letting her hand brush against his.

"I do admire beauty," he said awkwardly. His pace had slackened, and Vivian noticed that up ahead there was a curved marble bench below a fountain – not just any fountain, but one where the water spurted from the tip of a frozen Cupid's arrow, aimed downwards in the direction of the bench. She walked faster and turned the corner tightly to give it a wide berth.

"Is something the matter?" asked Merlin.

"Oh, no. I was just wondering… you have been keeping Excalibur safe, haven't you?"

He blinked at the non-sequitur. "Well, mostly Arthur has it, and he does get a bit touchy when people mess with his things. If someone tried to take Excalibur they'd probably find themselves on the wrong end of it pretty sharpish." He grinned at his own joke.

"But he doesn't have it all the time? He didn't have it just now."

"No, not always."

"Is it kept in the armoury, then?"

Merlin was slowing down again. He touched his hand to her arm. "Why so many questions? We're keeping it safe, I promise you. Now… let's just enjoy the evening. Look at the stars."

Vivian gave a brief glance skywards. "It's a bit cloudy."

Merlin chuckled. "Ah, well."

-o-

Unable to sleep, Guinevere left her husband's side and tiptoed out into the corridor. She went to the window but saw only darkness outside.

She had met Lady Elaine for the first time today and she was, as Lancelot and many others had had told her, extraordinarily beautiful: very slender, with delicate features and hair shining like burnished copper. If only she would smile. But Arthur said she had not been the same since the death of her brother four years ago. Four years since Morgana had become an official enemy of Camelot – could it really be so long ago?

Guinevere shuddered inwardly and tried to think of other things. Whenever she thought of Morgana there was a heavy, sick feeling in her gut.

She and Arthur were talking again – not that they had not been talking before, as such, but she had been sure he was avoiding her. He had far more important things to worry about, she knew, but she had sometimes felt he was not even trying to make time for her. Now he made time, but whenever they were together it all felt forced, as though she were holding him back from something else he should or would rather be doing.

How ironic, she thought, that it was the moment Lancelot had left that her relationship with Arthur had begun to fall apart.

"When I can't sleep, I like to read."

Guinevere startled a little at Merlin's voice.

"I'm sorry," he said and came to stand with her by the window. "I was heading for the library, if you wanted to come."

"No thanks, I'm too tired." It was not that Guinevere was unable to read, but it required effort on her part and she had never found any enjoyment in it.

"Where were you earlier?" she asked. "After dinner, I mean." Merlin's presence at the table had made everything considerably less awkward, but afterwards he had disappeared and she had been left with Lancelot making eyes at her and Arthur and Elaine competing to be the most sullen.

"I went for a walk with Vivian," said Merlin. He looked to her as if for comment, but Guinevere was not in a mood for teasing and especially not for being teased. She nodded and then yawned loudly.

Merlin yawned as well. "Oh, you've got me at it too," he said cheerfully. He patted her shoulder affectionately. "G'night, Gwen."

"Night, Merlin," she murmured as he bounded off down the corridor, wondered vaguely how he did it so silently, and then retired to bed once more.

-o-

Merlin brought Vivian to the next council meeting.

"I have seen that there is more pain and suffering by Morgana's hand," said Vivian.

"What do you mean?" asked Arthur. "Be specific."

"It's hard to be specific when my dreams are so vague, sire, but they suggest that she will be ruthless in enacting what she believes to be justice, whether it's charity or murder."

"I could have told you that," said Bedevere.

"Quiet!" Arthur insisted. "Let her speak."

Vivian shrugged. "She has nothing to lose, my lord, neither her life nor her reputation. Not that I've ever had the pleasure, but her actions strike me as those of someone who doesn't care what people think of her as long as they think something."

"They certainly think something," said Tor. "They're terrified."

"We can't say it hasn't been useful to us, though," said Merlin. "Terrified people are ones who stay indoors rather than impale their neighbour with a pitchfork over something that happened years ago."

There were mutterings around the table. "A pitchfork?" Arthur mouthed and Merlin gave a nod and a mock shudder.

Vivian spoke again, impatient. "I'm not sure she's invincible, my lord."

Every head in the room whipped round to stare and with a full, rapt audience she continued. "The sword Excalibur. It's effective against many magical creatures."

The attention shifted to Arthur. "She's not a 'magical creature'," he said. "I don't know why you imply it."

Vivian affected surprise. "My lord, she's not fully human."

It seemed for a moment that no one would breathe until Arthur responded, but he took his time and soon there were shuffling feet and uncomfortable glances.

"Whatever the case may be," he said finally, "there is no way we could overpower her for any useful length of time."

"Or," said Merlin quietly, "or for any time at all, really."


	13. Chapter 13

-o-o-

**13.**

-o-o-

"It seems we're at her mercy, then," said Vivian to Merlin that evening. "Unless…"

"What?"

"Maybe we couldn't win in a direct fight, but if there were a distraction… You protect Excalibur with magic when Arthur doesn't have it, don't you?"

"Wherever you're going with this-"

"Don't you see, Merlin? If she knows it can kill her, she'll be after it."

He looked to her for further explanation.

"If she wants to live forever she'll want to destroy it," she explained. "If she doesn't, she'll want to use it."

Merlin felt slightly sick. "In order to get it…"

"She'll have to get through you or the King," said Vivian. "I know you're too humble to care much for your own life, but his?"

"She wouldn't."

"Are you willing to bet Arthur's life on that?"

"I'm sure she wouldn't. But you, or me, or anyone else in her way?"

Vivian shrugged. "We're fair game."

"I wouldn't have put it like that."

"It's as well you've got me around, then. Putting things bluntly is one of my skills."

"And your others?" asked Merlin cheekily.

"You'll have to wait and see. But first, how's about we take a closer peek at that sword?"

-o-

"How did you find me?" asked Morgana. Apart from her living so far from Camelot, there was nothing special about this patch of forest. It was also strange that Merlin should only have brought three knights with him. She cast her eyes about for others.

"Locator spells," said Merlin.

"You say it so off-handedly." Locator spells were difficult and unreliable at the best of times, but perhaps Merlin had mastered more magic than she had previously assumed. He had prevented her from observing the castle for a while, which was almost impressive, though it had not taken her very long to work around it.

"He only had to try three times," said Gawain unhelpfully.

"Arthur's not with you," she said. "He's afraid, isn't he?"

"Arthur is the bravest man-" started Tristan.

"He's a coward," said Morgana. "He's afraid of his feelings, afraid of being weak before me, as he knows he would be. How strange, to be afraid of one's own cowardice."

"He doesn't know," said Merlin.

"Doesn't know?"

"That we wish to offer peace."

She wondered if they had really thought she would believe that.

"By stabbing me in the back?" She did not bother even to turn, but the man who had been creeping up behind her with Excalibur was jerked upwards into the air and hung grotesquely as though hoisted by the nape of his neck.

"Tor, isn't it?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder briefly. "I knew your brother Percival." She faced the others, who stood around her in a broad semicircle. "Twice, in fact. I'm sorry that Merlin included you in such a hopeless plan, Tor. He thinks I'm stupid, see, and I don't know there are another two of you hiding over to my left. They don't seem to realise that if they don't come out then something very unfortunate will be happening to you very soon."

Vivian and Bedevere crawled out sheepishly from the undergrowth.

"And he's only armed you with a sword. A pretty little sword, but a sword nonetheless." Morgana summoned Excalibur from Tor's flailing hand behind her. "Do you know what this sword can do to me, Merlin?" She raised it and made a show of slicing her forearm open so that it bled profusely.

Merlin gave a gasp as within ten seconds the wound had closed up and healed completely. Morgana held her arm out for all to see and spoke in a harsh whisper.

"Nothing."

Her eyes swivelled back to Sir Tor, who was hanging limply behind her; he had given up struggling.

"On a mere mortal, though – I'm sorry, Tor. It's nothing personal."

Having made sure she would never be so grossly underestimated again, she left them to gape or cry out in horror over Tor's headless corpse.

-o-

Merlin had blundered so badly that he wondered whether Arthur would forgive him, but he did, him and Morgana both.

"It was self-defence," said Arthur. "The same as with your attack, if I understand."

"Yes," said Merlin. He had explained Vivian's reasoning but attributed it to himself.

"At least she didn't take Excalibur," said Arthur, then shook his head rapidly. "That's a terrible thing to say, I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry; I went against your word."

"We've been over this, Merlin. Next time at least tell me you think my word is wrong before… before doing something reckless."

Merlin debated whether to tell Arthur that he was wrong about Morgana, that not even at a stretch was it self-defence when no-one could injure her. But there had been a lack of emotion, a brutality in Morgana's eyes that had scared even Merlin.

He did not tell Arthur that he was wrong.

-o-

Vivian was annoyed: that Morgana was alive, that it was Tor who was dead and most of all that if only she had been carrying Excalibur then everything would have gone as she had planned.

"I should have wielded Excalibur," she said to Merlin. "I told you so, and not just the once. But you wouldn't even let me hold it."

"I'm sorry. I was afraid for you." He looked at her with such a sweet expression of concern she that she hardly felt she could complain without arousing his suspicions.

-o-

"What is it?" asked Arthur. His head hung apprehensively over Tarquin's shoulder.

"That, my lord, is precisely what I'm in the process of determining." His nose wrinkled and twitched as he examined the baby from different angles. "In the process," he said, though his needless repetition was drowned out by Edith's wails. It was surprising that her tiny lungs could produce such a piteous howl.

"Come on, Arthur." There was a touch at his elbow and he allowed Guinevere to lead him out into the corridor. He wiped his brow, for he was too hot, and finding no relief pressed his cheek against the cool stone wall. Muffled cries carried through to rattle what composure he had.

"That nurse," he said.

"Muriel?"

"Dismiss her."

"What?"

He decided to abandon his comfort in favour of a more authoritative pose. He stood upright and threw his shoulders back.

"She was ill," he said. "Three days, you told me, our daughter cried with sickness. Only now Muriel sends for the doctor." His hands were clenched so tightly that his short nails dug sharply into his palms. "Find another nurse."

"The nurse made no mistake," said Guinevere. "I saw it myself; Edith barely seemed to have a cold at first."

"And now?" Arthur was vaguely aware that he was raising his voice more than was necessary and that the servants would hear – Mabel, for example, doing her best to conceal herself behind an open door halfway down the corridor – but he could not bring himself to lower it. "What if three days was too long to be idle?"

Guinevere looked down to where she had wrapped her arms around her sides. "Then her fate is in God's hands," she said with a hint of resentment.

Arthur let out a loud noise of frustration and slammed his closed fist into the wall behind him, making her jump in a way that gave him some satisfaction. He marched past her and down the stairs, not bothering to check if his wife followed; she would think it just one of his tempers which flared easily but were equally easy to calm. But it was with unremitting ire that he strode outdoors, to the far end of the gardens, and called out in desperation to the warm and silent night.

-o-

Morgana had watched the occurrence in her new home of her own construction. It was only another cottage, unassuming from the outside, but she was proud of the interior and added more decoration when she was bored or felt the need.

The magic at her fingertips still blinded and stifled everything she felt, lying mostly undisturbed by any sensation which might have been more intensely enjoyable. Every day she seemed to feel less and less, but she felt something of Arthur's hurt, so she supposed she should treasure that fact. She observed Arthur a good deal of the time since discovering the effect of his pain upon her.

Morgana did wonder why she had the connection to Arthur – their "entwined destinies" as the Great Dragon, or Lillian, would have had it? their previously strong friendship? mere chance? In any case, she suspected no one else could curb the dull intoxicated pleasure that came with her power.

She considered leaving Arthur alone, despite his utterance of her name, but his suffering would be so much more acute in person.

In fact, as his face came into focus she realised what she had missed. There was something wonderfully feral in the way his eyes fixed on her.

"You called?"

"Please, Morgana. You see these things. Tell me she lives."

Morgana knew that Edith would live years longer than her current seven months, but she could always lie; spinning Arthur a tale of his daughter's painful death would surely undo him most exquisitely…

"She lives." She liked to think there were some depths she would not sink to.

Arthur relaxed somewhat. "Oh." He exhaled sharply, as if he had been holding his breath all the while. "Thank you."

"I don't know why I'm doing you favours," she muttered loudly enough for him to hear.

"You still care a little?" Arthur bit his lip and looked at Morgana with such obvious expectancy that she was almost startled. She returned to her cottage without giving him the gratification of an answer.

The encounter had given her the germ of an idea, which flourished from something minor and inchoate into a whole and satisfying proposal.

She would have sworn that when he looked at her, his lower lip caught between his teeth, she had seen more than a flash of lust in his eyes. However Arthur protested, she had always known him well. She knew his emotions, his reactions, his strengths and his weaknesses. She knew what made him worry or fume with anger.

She realised, with something almost akin to joy, that she knew exactly how to break his spirit.

-o-

Arthur could not believe that he had almost felt sorry for the bandits who were stupid enough to ambush the King, not to mention Merlin and Vivian, probably without even realising who they were. Now he was reconsidering – even as he had killed two of them and the others were fighting his friends out of sight, he had lost his sword and there was still one left. He found himself backing against a tree. He had no armour and no weapon.

The man lifted his sword and Arthur prayed.

Suddenly Morgana appeared in front of him and the blade slid into her with a sickening sound. She smiled at Arthur, ripped the sword easily from her flesh, and whirled round to slit the bandit's throat.

Arthur gaped at her as she casually prodded the man with her foot and retrieved Excalibur with a flick of the wrist, stabbing the body for good measure and handing his sword back to him brightened with blood. Her eyes burned dark gold, distant and magnificent.

"I don't think he'll be troubling you again."

He was about to respond when she took him by the arm and dragged him through thin air and nothingness back to the temple. Morgana confused him so – she understood him but mocked him, made him suffer but saved him.

"I needed to speak to you," she said. "And don't worry, Merlin and Vivian are fine too." She peered down at the bloodstain on her dress and her hand hovered over it. It disappeared within seconds.

He looked at her with suspicion. He still gripped Excalibur in his hand and blood was dripping from the tip to pool on the ground.

She sighed. "You're not upset because you were saved by a girl, are you?" It was a silly and childish thing to say, but Arthur suddenly saw the old Morgana again and everything seemed a little less desperate.

"Thank you," he muttered.

"What was that, sorry?"

He glared at her, but didn't mean it. "Thank you for not letting me die, whatever reasons you may have for it."

"My reasons are much the same as before. I want us to reconcile. But I realise that last time I went about it the wrong way; I tried to be civil, and you're not ready to be civil. You're angry with me, whether you'll admit it or not. You need to air your grievances. Let it all out."

She conjured a sword and plucked it from mid-air where it hung before her. She considered for a moment and then produced a silver gauntlet, which she dropped casually at Arthur's feet.

"Free combat. I promise I won't use any magic."

"You can't be serious," said Arthur.

"Deadly." Her dark red lips curved upwards, her tongue caught between them as she grinned at him. "Just like old times, Arthur!"

He scoffed. "It's hardly fair. You can't feel pain."

"You're twice my size and not wearing a silly dress. I'd say we're about evenly matched."

"You can't be injured."

"Then you don't have to hold back. I know you want to fight. Stop making excuses." She circled him and he turned to follow her movement. "But that's all you ever do, isn't it? I know you hate me, now _fight_."

"I don't hate you." She was only encouraging him to rage at his guilt - that was why they were here of all places, surely – and though she was the very embodiment of it, he was sure any attempt to rage against her would prove spectacularly ineffective.

"Loathe, despise, abhor…"

"No." If there was any overwhelming emotion he felt towards her, not what she might represent, it was a strange sort of respect and envy. She was free. She had no kingdom, no inheritance, no husband to submit to, and all of her own doing. She had continually challenged his father; she surely felt that giddiness in open defiance that he did, though she did not dwell and brood and regret it afterwards. When Arthur had doubted his father, it was to Morgana he had turned automatically for instruction, to show him the way; she did not quaver in the face of authority. With this long overdue realisation came the first strains of anger and an accusation.

"You left Camelot. You left me."

"And I didn't look back."

It was the expression of pity on Morgana's face that prompted him to make a move. Why should she be so arrogant as to think he could not do without her? And why be so cruel as to leave him if she thought that was the case?

He made to attack and halfway through could not believe he was doing it, but by then Morgana had responded.

"Isn't it good to be honest with yourself?" she asked as they danced to and fro across the floor, Arthur almost tripping over the gauntlet he had forgotten was there. "To admit that I frustrate you, that thoughts of me beset you. You can't have me, you can't break free and you certainly can't defeat me."

Morgana was swift in her movements and did not tire, speaking without any hint of exertion, but even as she matched his efforts there was a certain feeling of elation bubbling up in him. This he knew. She might have quick wits and the powers of magic and manipulation, but if he knew anything it was this: the clash of metal, the violent drumming of his heart against his ribs, the sting of drawn blood as her blade scratched a thin line on his arm.

"No rejoinder?" There was that goading, serpentine smile once more. "I thought you enjoyed our witty repartee. He has nothing to say for himself, then, our mighty King? No defence, though he longs for approval?"

Arthur was panting now and he felt sweat forming on his forehead. The day was hot and though he wasn't wearing armour, combined with his previous exertions, it was enough that he felt some deal of exhaustion already. "I don't need approval," he said with difficulty. "The people love me."

"Yes, they do, but they don't know you." Her bodice slipped slightly and Arthur was trapped between wondering at why her dress was so flimsy if she had planned this and appreciating that it was; but he could not bring himself to strike her in the moment she was distracted, though he could have done and she would not have been hurt.

Within a few seconds she continued and they fought as fiercely as before. "You don't crave their love, nor Gwen's. Forgiveness and love flow like blood through her veins; she could not loathe the Devil-" She was almost thrown off-balance by a blow she scarcely parried. "-if she tried. We both know what it is you crave."

She swung her blade in a wide arc and as Arthur ducked it skimmed the wall behind him; the grating on his eardrums was enough to make him flinch and for a second the advantage was hers, but as she moved to strike him from the other side he caught her sword against his. With one flex he could have thrown her off but they stayed in balance, their swords locked and neither attempting to break free.

The beetle-black of her widened pupils transfixed him as the shining red mouth parted. He felt the puff of air against his own breathless lips.

"Are you afraid to take it?"

Their weapons clattered to the ground.

-o-

Guinevere prayed daily for strength and guidance. At first it had been a habit from childhood, but recently she had taken to it with renewed sincerity. She told herself she would be strong-willed and resolute and virtuous. No longer would she cry with shame or guilt, or not be able to look her husband in the eye for fear he might see the truth in her gaze. He would see that she was a better woman now than she had ever been.

She sank to her knees on the cold floor and closed her eyes.

_Oh Lord, please forgive me my wrongdoings. Please help me to rise above these messy mortal pleasures… _

A mile or so away, her husband was kissing Morgana passionately.

Morgana knew that Arthur had felt some lust for her, of course, but that was not why he had fallen for her taunts. The lust was for the twisted absolution he saw reflected in her every pale curve. She alone could forgive him, for no one else could ever find fault with him.

When she started to tug at his belt, Arthur pulled away slightly, backing up against the stone altar.

"I'm married," he protested weakly, panting for breath.

She sidled up to him and played with the pendant around his neck. "Has anyone told your wife about that?"

"I can't," he mumbled as she licked at his throat. It was irritatingly clean.

She knew how to deal with that. She stopped, stepped away from him and shrugged. "Perhaps you're right. It was only… There are other men, I suppose."

Arthur hesitated for a second before grabbing her again.

He lifted her onto the altar, pushed her thighs apart, and kissed her insistently. She ran her hands through his hair, petting him and smiling. Poor sweet Arthur, wretchedly predictable to the last.

…_help me to accept your forgiveness and attain eternal life…_

Morgana wrapped her legs around him and slid her hands over his back and shoulders, broad and strong as ever. She kissed him with desperation, empty and longing for some sensuous pleasure to overwhelm that clear, unsullied bliss that plagued her endlessly. Arthur pushed hard against her, making her drop her hands to grip the edges of the altar for support.

…_help me to know the right path and to follow it always; help me to trust you and serve you; forgive me, Lord, and let my soul be with you…_

Arthur was unrelenting, but more caring than she had expected. He murmured somewhere that she was beautiful and said her name over and over. Somewhere this had all become far too tender; she bit hard at his shoulder and dug her nails into his back, sure it must hurt, but he kept going – "Morgana… Morgana…", wet tongued kisses, soft caresses all over – and she gave in.

…_Amen_

Arthur was still. He breathed heavily against Morgana's cheek as she mouthed kisses along his jaw line. She pulled him flush against her, skin to skin – his tasted of heavy salt - and he mumbled drowsily that she was his. She was in no position to argue with that.


	14. Chapter 14

-o-o-

**14.**

-o-o-

Morgana observed Arthur as he dressed himself again. His expression was hard to read but she was fairly sure he hated himself at this moment.

"Arthur?" He lifted his head. "Thank you."

The way his lips pursed made her wince. Morgana stared at her hands. She had shown he had no resistance to her; everything had gone as she had wanted and had been as enjoyable as she could have hoped. Why was she not pleased with herself?

She looked up to see Arthur already gone.

-o-

Vivian found the bodies of the men Arthur had been fighting, but not the King himself.

"I saw Morgana," came Merlin's voice from behind her. "She must have taken him."

"Morgana the Fay?"

"She won't harm him. I'm fairly sure, anyway," he said with some deal of consternation. Vivian put her hand on his arm.

"You were her friend when she was at Camelot?"

He nodded sadly. "She was so… fiercely compassionate."

Vivian hugged him. Over the two years since she had come to the castle she had hardly touched him, but the gesture seemed appropriate. Her thin arms felt frail and her touch in itself was not much of a comfort, but the intention warmed him.

"I've lost more than one friend to the lure of dark magic," she said. "You can never tell how a taste of power will change people." She drew back to see his face but kept her arms around him. "Sometimes I wonder how a great sorcerer like you can have such a pure heart. You are… never tempted?"

Merlin stared at her lips. "By dark magic? No."

She released him and looked over at the men lying dead on the ground. "We should bury them at least," she said, reaching her hand out to dig the graves. The dirt started to displace itself.

Merlin carved headstones out of rocks and floated them over to be planted in the ground, forming a small, neat row of bare crosses. "It's a pity we don't know their names," he said.

Vivian took his hand. "We shouldn't dwell on these things, Merlin. Let's go home."

Merlin glanced at their clasped hands and agreed, not letting go as they walked back through the forest together.

-o-

A few days later Arthur came to Morgana again; or, more accurately, he went and stood in the forest, wild-eyed, mumbling her name as if frightened to say it out loud, until she came to him. She was not entirely surprised.

She had wondered briefly whether he would feel worse if he saw her again or if not, but then she admitted that she was deceiving herself in thinking that her sole aim was to hurt him. She had proven that he had a weakness for her and there was no need to do so again. There was a satisfaction in being with Arthur and in controlling him, a completeness, a rightness that made her think Lillian's notion of them being bound together was not entirely nonsensical. His return made her oddly content in a way she could not remember being.

"Do you live here?" he asked as Morgana lead him to a slightly ramshackle, out-of-the-way cottage.

"No. I used to."

"Where do you live now?"

"Somewhere else. I've moved most of my things out." She turned to him. "There's still a bed, though."

For some reason that made Arthur stop asking awkward questions.

When he lay her down and kissed her it was again far too gentle, but she could not make him more forceful however she tried.

"Let me, please," said Arthur, lips stroking her cheek, hands loosening the lacing of her dress and separating the layers of silk. She let him. Though all this had failed to shake Arthur from complacency or to satisfy her instinct for revenge, perhaps those would come later, once he thought he had gained whatever redemption he sought from her.

He lapped at her collar bone and her voice trembled as she spoke. "Arthur. I always knew-"

He lifted his head, so sad and lost-looking that the jibe withered on her tongue.

"I knew we'd be good together," she said softly instead. He kissed her so forcefully she was sure it would have hurt anyone else.

-o-

"I've seen your death," said Morgana.

"You need to work on your pillow talk," mumbled Arthur into her hair.

"This is important," she said. "Will you promise me something?"

"Depends what it is."

"When you're dying, when you know for sure that you're dying, ask your men to take you to the lake in the forest by Camelot."

"Why?"

"I've seen it. That's the way it's meant to be."

"What happens after that? What does it matter where I die?"

"I don't know. Promise me, Arthur, please."

"All right, if it makes you happy." He paused. "When does it happen?"

"I can't tell. Years from now; you're older in my vision."

"Hm." He squeezed her against him more tightly. "Let's not talk about death any more."

"Why not?" she asked suddenly. "It's going to happen. Not to me and I'm not sure whether I'm glad about that. But you can't escape it."

"Morgana," he said tiredly.

She struggled out from his grip and sat up, not bothering to pull the blanket up and cover herself. "Ignoring things doesn't make them go away. Including me. Especially me."

"I'm glad."

"What?"

"Nothing." He sighed. "You're always watching, aren't you? Not just you, I mean, but others with magic. Watching, manipulating…"

"I prefer to think of us gently nudging people in the right direction," she said.

"You're like gods," he said with wonder.

Morgana laughed. "God has a lot more to answer for."

"I suppose you'd say I have too much squandered power to judge," he said, his head turned away from her.

She made a soft noise in her throat and lay back down beside him, cupping his chin to make him face her.

"When everyone has the highest expectations of you, you can only fall short." She smiled. "Count your lucky stars I never thought you'd be good at anything."

"Except in bed, apparently," he said with the beginnings of smugness.

"Oh, don't be silly, I just said that so you'd get on with it."

Arthur looked hurt for about half a second before the smugness returned. "But you did want me to get on with it."

"Or get it over with, one of those."

He smiled tiredly. "We can't just cuddle, can we? We have to argue."

"We wouldn't be us otherwise."

Suddenly he seemed concerned. He sat up and grabbed his clothes. "I have to go."

"Have to?" she asked.

He nearly tripped over getting out of bed. "I've got a country to rule, haven't you heard?"

"Oh yes, _that_."

"And haven't you got some, I don't know…" He looked away, half-dressed, inordinately fascinated by the wall.

"Evil scheming to be getting on with? Probably. Well," she said, annoyed that he still wouldn't look at her, "I'll see you, Arthur."

He didn't answer. He finished dressing himself and hurried away. Morgana flopped back against the pillows and thought.

-o-

"Guinevere." Lancelot caught her arm in the corridor but she pulled away from him. "Please, let me speak to you…"

She looked about her, panicked that Arthur or someone else might see them. "What can you have to say? Why should I wish to let you speak?"

"Because," Lancelot whispered, "because you love me yet."

"No." She backed against a tapestry.

"I only ask that you should not avoid me. It's torture enough that I cannot love you as you deserve, but never to see you-"

"You see me all the time!" she whispered. "You're always here, even when you should be away with Arthur, or at home with your wife. Watch me if you have to, but leave me in peace!" She ran away down the corridor and Lancelot did not follow.

-o-

"You said when I arrived that you'd teach me magic," said Vivian.

"You already know how to cast spells," said Merlin.

"Simple ones, easy ones." She murmured an enchantment and flames danced before them in the grate. "Child's play."

"It's too hot for a fire."

"It's cold this morning."

"For August, I suppose. You must be getting old," he joked, but she seemed irritated by that. He himself was becoming irritated by how she kept pressing him to share his magic. He turned the flames to ice; they curled about and clung to the wood and ash, forming a delicate, translucent structure.

Vivian's eyes lit up. "Now there's a trick."

"Yes," said Merlin, getting up, "just a trick."

"Help me to learn." Her fingers gripped his wrist. They felt so thin and fragile that if he snatched his arm away they might snap. He gently prised them off and held her small hand in both of his. She got to her feet. "Please, Merlin."

"You don't need my help. What would you do with more magic?"

"What do you do with it?"

"I help Arthur."

"So do I. You're chosen, but who chose you? Why should you have all that power and not share it?" Her voice rose higher and higher. "It's selfish, Merlin!"

Though she was shouting by then, he had not released her hand. After a moment the shrill voice and fierceness had gone and she was meek.

"I'm sorry for my impatience," she said and then chewed at her top lip. Realisation seemed to dawn on her. "You're right, I don't need your help."

Merlin patted her hand and accepted her apology, but was uneasy towards her for the rest of the day.

-o-

The next time Arthur and Morgana met, it was she who sought him out. He was alone, leaning on the Round Table and staring across it. A moment later she was beside him.

"Not you again," he said jokingly, standing up straight to look at her.

She reached out as if to brush imaginary dust off the surface of the table. "I forgot to mention it before," she drawled, "but I _love_ what you've done with the place. Square tables: so last century."

He was not sure what game she was playing this time. "It's a fine notion, isn't it? Equality."

"It's just a table. Pleases Merlin, I expect, and you do like to please him. But the thing is, you're not their equal." She gestured at the knights' empty seats. "You're better than them. That's why you're King."

They were inches apart, but she was not touching him or trying to seduce him again and it put him off-guard.

"I'm King because I'm my father's son, not because there's no one who could rule better. I did nothing to deserve this."

"But you've shown them that you do deserve it," said Morgana and hope flourished in Arthur's heart.

"Have I shown you?"

She put her hand on his shoulder and smoothed out the top of his shirt. "What does it matter what I think? Have some dignity, Arthur." She was edging closer and he caught her scent, rich and heady. He could sense the power lurking behind her every touch.

"Pride isn't a sin," she said and he was watching the smallest movements of her lips. "Nothing is unless we make it so."

Before he knew it he was kissing her again. "I need you," he gasped suddenly and then was shocked at himself.

She shook her head. "You need pride in yourself. You do what's right by others without a thought but-"

"Do you? Have pride in me."

"That's not the point," she started to say, but then heard voices outside the door. "Will you come tomorrow evening? To the cottage?"

Arthur fought with his conscience a moment and lost as the door opened. "Yes," he said and was alone when Merlin entered.

"Arthur?" Merlin was frowning. "What's the matter?"

Arthur pulled out the nearest chair – not even his – and sank into it. "Nothing."

"Of course. Always nothing." He coughed and Arthur looked up. "There are reports of minor troubles in the North, sire-"

"Send someone else."

"What?"

"Whoever needs to go, send them. I'm sitting this one out."

Merlin's mouth hung open.

"I'm delegating," said Arthur, standing and slapping Merlin's shoulder enthusiastically. Merlin frowned again and he dropped the cheerful act. "I need a rest," he said, looking Merlin straight in the eye to show his sincerity.

"I understand," said Merlin, putting his own hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Anything I can do for you, Arthur, I shan't hesitate."

"I know. Thank you."

Merlin moved forward and hugged him. Arthur's arms flapped about a bit and then patted him on the back.

Merlin stepped backwards. "Well," he said. "That was awkward."

Arthur felt an uncontrollable grin coming on. "Yes, it was rather."

"Let's not do that again."

"Okay then," he said, smiling stupidly.

-o-

Enid was annoyed when Morgana came to visit her. "Nice of you to drop by," she said tersely.

"I've been busy," said Morgana.

"I hear the murderin' business ain't what it used to be."

"Where's Eadred?"

Enid pointed into the next room of her cottage, where Eadred was sitting and eating. He hugged Morgana when she came in. Enid rolled her eyes and left the two of them to themselves.

"How have you been?"

"All right. I've missed you, Mama. Do you want some?" He held out the plate to her, littered with crusts that had been carefully bitten around. There was one intact slice of bread, but Morgana shook her head.

"Forgot you don't really eat," he said and sat down, replacing the plate. He was about fifteen by now and, Morgana noticed but did not mention, rather in need of a haircut. "How are you, anyway?"

"All right. Look, I'm sorry it's been so long."

"S'okay, I understand. You're wanted, dead or alive." He seemed almost excited by the notion.

"Well, one of those is quite unlikely."

"I know, else I'd be worried."

She sat down across from him. "I suppose you know why they're against me."

"You killed a few people."

She took a deep breath.

"Doesn't bother me," he said. "The King kills people and everyone applauds him. Merlin kills too. You took matters into your own hands, same as them."

"I don't think they see it that way."

"It's how I see it. No one should decide who lives or dies, but someone has to."

Morgana tried to think about that but Eadred started to talk again.

"People are actually more worried 'cause you haven't killed anyone for a while. They think you're hatching a plot or something."

"Really?"

"Yeah, against the King."

"Well, in fact," she said, squirming a little in her seat, "for the first time in years we're actually talking to each other. Sort of."

"More'n just talking, I bet."

"Eddy!"

"What? I'm nearly a man now, Mama, and I'm not naïve. But I do wonder."

"Wonder what, dare I ask?"

"Do you think he'll leave his wife for you?" he asked and took a bite from the bread.

"No, that's ridiculous. This is all for the good of his marriage, anyway. Or it was. Well, at first it was all out of spite, because what could be worse to him than making him betray his beloved Guinevere? I thought scorning him would make me feel better and it did for a while. Then I thought I could, I don't know, make him stand up to her, to everyone, but I haven't done that either. I can't even be angry at him any more. And now… now I can't believe I'm talking to you about this."

Eadred swallowed. "If it helps, I've no idea what you're on about."

Morgana sighed; she was not entirely sure either. "When we met I couldn't feel pain or discomfort, then I couldn't even experience anything pleasurable over the magic."

"The magic feels good, you said."

"Yes, but so empty. Arthur, somehow he can… he…"

Eadred fought back a grin. "Fills you up?"

"I'm going to be having stern words with Enid about you, young man," she said, laughing gently.

He was serious once more. "And how's Arthur feel 'bout your arrangement? Does he love you?"

Morgana thought for a long moment before answering. "I wouldn't marry him when he asked. People rarely say no to Arthur. Then I left and he didn't understand why."

"Wants what he can't have, then?"

"Maybe." She tugged distractedly at the collar of her dress. "I keep thinking I know him and then he goes and surprises me."

"It takes a lifetime to know someone completely," said Eadred.

"Going to be a philosopher, are we?"

He shrugged and chewed thoughtfully at his mouthful of bread. "I think it's 'cause he still loves you."

Morgana wondered why her heart should leap now at the suggestion when it never had before, though she had considered it so many times and of course Eadred had little knowledge of the situation.

"Who knows?" she asked, her voice too bright, and he looked at her sadly.

-o-

It was raining when Arthur came the next evening. It was not a thunderstorm – that might almost be romantic, thought Morgana as she waited for him – but a thin drizzle that permeated the air and made the world grey and miserable. Arthur's red shirt stood out like a beacon.

He leant against the doorway to catch his breath. "Ran part of the way," he said and Morgana admired the way the damp shirt clung to his skin.

"You didn't ride here?"

"No, too obvious if I take a horse," he said, panting. "I never just go out for a ride. Guinevere just about believes that I would go out for a walk."

Suddenly he froze and Morgana quickly changed the subject.

"I had a vision last night. About Avalon."

"What did it look like?"

"Just like… a bright light. Bright and pure, and I knew it was Avalon. You can't see it properly unless you're near death."

"I know what the stories say. But it's not real."

"I bet you thought Fays didn't exist either. Never mind." She smiled and pressed herself up against him. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

Arthur's face was glum. She tried pushing her breasts up against his chest until they were practically falling out of her dress, but that was no remedy.

"Why so sad?"

He stared out at the pathetic rain. "I keep thinking…"

"Yes?"

"I keep thinking I've failed, but I don't know what at. You know the future. Is this how things are meant to be?"

She held her palm to his cheek and shook her head. "I've searched so long for purpose, Arthur, purpose and meaning and justice. But there's none to be found. We have to make our own."

"This is your purpose, then?" he said as he leaned in to kiss her.

"Mm, well, it's not bad for now…"

This time, when Arthur's kisses were heartfelt and he held her far too tenderly, she could not find it within herself to complain.

-o-

Morgana stroked her hand across Arthur's tanned and scarred skin as he lay dozing beside her, one arm draped over her. She reached up and twirled his pretty golden hair around her fingers.

Back in long-buried corners of her coven's monstrous library she had dug through hundreds of books in the search for forgotten enchantments, but her attention was always caught by legends and fanciful poems of nymphs and Titans and heroes, the songs of the ancients. She had read of all-powerful gods and how they doted on their handsome mortal men of choice, though they lived miraculous lives in incredible places. Maybe now she could understand why. Arthur was like her own sweet, flawed Adonis, her plaything whom she was forced to share. If she wanted, she could heal his every blemish, sculpt his lips fuller and softer and make his eyes shine, piercing and sparkling like the heavens; but she was sick of perfection.

Arthur cracked open a thankfully non-heavenly blue eye and accused Morgana of messing up his hair. She pushed him over onto his back, sat on top of him and promised to mess it up some more.

-o-

Elaine read Lancelot's letter one more time to be sure.

He said he would come soon. Not tomorrow, nor the day after, but soon, that was what he promised.

She held the letter over the guttering candle and watched as it crinkled to black and flaked away into the air.

She had a drawer full of broken promises.

Rising from the flattened heap of pillows, she did admit to herself that she had made a promise too, gasped into sweaty air on the night of their wedding, that she would be there for him always. She hoped he had missed that one.

Her legs were stiff from lack of use and it was with difficulty that she walked out of the castle for the first time in over a week. Although she had almost exclusively lain in bed, sleep had been rare and fitful. Her eyes were heavy and stinging from tiredness.

The night was clear but gusty, and the wind seemed to boast of its freedom. As her stomach growled from days of near-neglect, the breeze swirled at her skirts and whistled gaily to her: _I need no sustenance; I am unbound! How you women chain yourselves!_

"Oh, but how could I have known?" Her open lips shaped the words indistinctly but made no sound. "Now I know, but too late, too late! I feel so old… I have aged so much these past few years."

_We are ancient_, came the rustle of the trees as she made her slow, unsteady way between them, _yet we command no respect. See how men chop at us this way and that, how they comfort themselves at the heat of our burning limbs, and they know not how long – but silently! – we have been growing._

The forest's whispered lament died away as Elaine approached the bridge. She stopped and swayed with the buffeting gusts of wind. This great, grey, ugly thing used to lift her spirits - here Lancelot kissed her for the first time – but now the joy was so distant that the memory seemed false. She stepped up to the middle, then slumped in a heap on the rough stone. With her ear pressed against it, the gushing of the river drowned out the wind's efforts.

_Come, come, girl, wash the sorrow from your heart!_

"But his name is carved there… carved so deep…"

_Then come, let your leaden heart sink away and you shall float above!_

"But I can't swim."

Elaine rolled over onto her back and her head lolled like a puppet's. The night sky yawned open above her, cloudy and bleak. Tears slid across her cheeks and dripped from her upper lip into her slack mouth.

"I can't do anything. I can only lie in bed, or on this wretched bridge, and cry and ache and moan. What good am I to anyone? I am none to him, I know that. Why touch me or speak to me when he has the thought of Guinevere?"

She peeled her limp, emaciated body up to stand shakily, leaning against the raised edge of the bridge, and stared blankly over at the deep river.

"Will it always be like this? Nothing comforts me, nothing! There's only dullness, and emptiness, and pain, and I forget what it was to be happy!"

_We shall comfort,_ said the lapping waters. _We shall swirl and surround you, hold you close and grip you tight. Come, let us comfort._

Elaine heaved herself up onto the edge.

_You shall never feel empty again._

She leaned over, her hands stretched behind her to grip the stone. A wave of nausea crept up to her throat.

_Come, let us wash away your pain._

Elaine's lips trembled for the last time and let out a plaintive moan as a sudden terrible faintness came over her. As reality slipped away from her completely, so her hands slipped from the stone. She did not hear the river's triumphant splash.


	15. Chapter 15

-o-o-

**15.**

-o-o-

On the morning that the news of Elaine's death reached Camelot there was no shortage of doleful faces, but as Arthur walked the corridors the sympathetic glances translated as reproachful; where there were whispers or sighs he heard calls of _cuckold_, _philanderer_, _that weak and passive King…_

Lancelot had bolted, naturally, to 'put his affairs in order'. The brunt of the castle's judgement fell upon Arthur, or so he felt.

So when he leant back against the wall of his chambers and held his head in his hands, hoping for a moment of relief, he had little patience for Guinevere as she came in flustered and twittering the same callous nonsense as every other being the news had found.

"It's just terrible. I can't believe… the poor, poor girl, and so young. It was so tragic, her brother… It's terrible, how she could give up like that."

Arthur's temperament collapsed.

"For God's sake, stop skirting around it!" He struck out at the dressing-table mirror. It shattered and fell into shards. Perfume bottles rolled off the wobbling table and smashed at his feet.

Guinevere stared at him in shock and made a stifled gulping sound. Let her be afraid, thought Arthur, for she only has the truth to fear.

"Her husband only had eyes for you," he said, his voice lowered but cutting as a taut wire. "And he was not denied. _That's_ why the Fair Elaine is a washed-up corpse and there is no point in pretending otherwise!"

To her credit she spoke up for herself. "And in no way is it my fault."

"No, you don't get to say that! Would you blame Lancelot? It takes two, Guinevere, two to betray me and hurt me and make me feel like I'm nothing, nothing to anyone."

There was a sudden fierceness in Guinevere's eyes he had not seen before. "I have never stopped loving you, never."

"But you love everyone, Guinevere, however unworthy. Your love means nothing," he said and stormed out. At least three servants scurried away when he pushed the door open, but he did not care much who had been listening. It was not as if they had been ignorant beforehand.

She found him in the gardens.

"This isn't to do with Elaine, is it?" she asked. He stood and stared at the path at his feet. "I haven't… not for two years now. I have sinned, I have shamed myself and you, but that's all past. I promise."

"And why should I believe a word of that?"

"You can tell when I lie, can't you? You always could."

It was true, he could tell, and she was not lying.

"You have a right to be angry," she said.

Suddenly Arthur felt awfully drained and he sat down heavily on a bench. "No," he said, his eyes still turned away from her, "no, I don't."

"And why's that?"

"I've never liked hypocrites." He had no idea of the origin of this sudden unexpected desire to tell her everything, but there it was.

Several seconds passed before the single heavy syllable dropped from Guinevere's lips. "Who?"

"Morgana."

"Oh." Expressions flickered rapidly across her face as she appeared to decide whether to be angry or not. She seemed to settle on confused. "Do you love her?"

Arthur bit at his knuckle. He was surprised that Guinevere should speak so calmly. He was thankful that no one else could hear their conversation this time.

She sat next to him and he watched her warily.

"I loved Lancelot," she said. "But not for a moment did I stop loving you." Her voice was strangled as if she was on the verge of tears. "I know that doesn't make it right."

"I don't know about her," said Arthur eventually, his finger still pressed against his bottom lip. "Things have always been so hideously complicated. But I know I want to make things right with you."

Their eyes met. "Do you think we can?" he asked.

She took his hand and squeezed it tentatively. "Let's see what we can do."

-o-

Arthur's conversation with Morgana was brief.

"I know what you're going to say," she said.

"Of course. Of course you do. Do I need to say it, then, or will something terrible happen if your visions don't-"

"I didn't see this. I was watching you and Gwen earlier."

"Oh. You worked out that I would come and…"

"I've worked out a lot of things. This one I've accepted," she said, though he was not sure from her expression that she meant it. "You did the right thing. It's all right, Arthur."

"Good."

"It was, wasn't it?" She smiled faintly.

"Ye- If I don't have to… that's all… I don't have anything else to say."

There was a pause. "Nor do I, it seems."

"Well, then," he said.

"Well, then."

In a heartbeat Arthur had crossed over to her and pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest. Morgana's chin rested on his shoulder. He thought he felt her breathe in against his cheek, as though she were about to speak.

She made a small broken noise in the back of her throat and then Arthur found himself clinging to empty air.

-o-

Merlin descended the main staircase and was making his way across to the throne room when he passed Vivian. She was in conversation with a man he thought he recognised – but he decided that perhaps he was reaching the age where everyone resembled someone he used to know, because he could not place the man. Merlin surmised from his attire that he was a hopeful trying out to be a knight. He would have carried on past without further thought after Vivian smiled and raised her hand in acknowledgement, but something the man said caught his ear.

"You are a friend of Emrys?" he asked her. The Great Dragon had often called him that and so did the Druids. More or less anyone with strong magic seemed to, but never Arthur and his knights.

He was curious and so later on he introduced himself.

"Agravain," the man said, shaking his hand. "It is, of course, an honour."

"You're here to become a Knight of Camelot?"

Agravain gave him a smile of wry amusement, the only expression which ever seemed to break that of intense solemnity he usually wore. "Among other things," he said.

"I was just wondering… yesterday, you were talking to Vivian-"

"A charming girl, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is…"

"Watch out for her," said Agravain, that smile coming over his features again. "Especially where your heart is concerned."

"Wha…" Merlin was temporarily thrown. "I was wondering why you called me Emrys?"

"It must have been something I picked up from somewhere."

"You have no magic, then?" He tried to sound casual, though something about Agravain unsettled him.

"Very little. Certainly nothing to speak to the great Merlin of."

He nodded. "Well, good luck with your training. Arthur might seem a bit terrifying, but I promise underneath it all he's… actually sometimes a bit terrifying."

Merlin grinned and once again Agravain gave his off-putting smile.

-o-

"Constantine's arrived, Arthur," said Guinevere.

"Constantine?"

"Cador's son."

"Yes, yes, I know who Constantine is. He's here already?"

"Would seem so."

A messenger entered the room. "My lord, the boy Constantine-"

"Yes, all right, I know," said Arthur, getting up from his throne and muttering to himself. "Heard enough about damned Constantine to last me a lifetime." It was galling that he should have to spend his days training a cousin rather than a son, but what made it all the worse was how insufferably smug Cador had been about the whole thing.

Guinevere followed him down to the courtyard to greet the boy, who bowed deeply to them.

"My lord. My lady."

"Welcome to Camelot," said Guinevere.

Arthur indicated that Constantine should stand up straight. He looked him over. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen, my lord."

"Seventeen already?"

"Eighteen next month, my lord."

"And your training so far?"

"Arthur," whispered Guinevere, "don't you think we should invite him in first?"

He hushed her.

"I've been squire to Sir Urry for nearly four years, my lord," said Constantine. "He thinks I'm ready to serve you and learn from you, as does my father."

"Well, we'll see about that," said Arthur. "Dawn tomorrow, don't be late."

"You shouldn't have questioned me like that," he hissed to Guinevere once Constantine had gone to settle in.

"He's only just arrived. And he's family. No need to treat him like that."

"Like what?"

"As if it's his fault he's not your son."

Arthur glared. "The whole situation is embarrassing enough without you trying to overrule me."

"If you could just have some humility-"

"I think we've both learnt what happens when I have too much humility," he huffed.

Guinevere was quiet for a moment. "I shan't say anything if you treat him as you would anyone else."

His gaze softened. "I'll do my best." He took her arm. "Okay?"

She smiled. "Okay."

-o-

Morgana did not like feeling sorry for herself, especially since this time Arthur had finally done what she'd asked of him, and it was frustrating that she could not cry, though it might have been cathartic. He was a better man, but now he was he had no use for her, and, she supposed, she had no purpose towards him; yet still she felt a connection to him, and him alone. She grew more and more angry; malevolence was such a kinder feeling than pure loss. But she could not act against Arthur, though she spent much time imagining unfortunate ends she could bring him to.

She ambushed one of Arthur's knights when he was alone, and the man almost fell off his horse.

"Sagremore?"

He nodded, his face pale.

"Come down here. No point in riding away."

Sagremore climbed down and stood against his horse, shaking with fear.

"Arthur doesn't go for the fearless ones any more, does he? So you know who I am, then."

"Morgana the Fay."

"And you're afraid of me."

He did not speak. She wished she had picked someone who would at least have pretended not to be scared.

"Are they all afraid of me?" she asked. "The people? The knights? The King?"

He gulped.

"Answer me."

"Not the King," he said. "The King fears nothing."

"The same old line. Does he make you repeat it after him?" She expected no response and received none. "Well, let me tell you something, Sagremore. Pay attention. Arthur needs to hear this." She approached him and heard his breath hitch in his throat. "He may think he's brave, but he's only foolhardy if he thinks I can be overlooked."

He swallowed again and trembled. Morgana let her eyes flash gold. "For now they know my name, his people, and they are _terrified_. They cower in my presence; they will do my bidding to save their own skins. They would rise up against him at my behest. A word from me and he'll have no kingdom, no power. He is entirely at my mercy. It's only through my grace that he has anything. It would do him good to remember that."

"W-why do you not tell Arthur so? Why me?"

She did not tell Arthur because she knew she would be tempted and she was not so pathetic as to chase after men she had lost. There were other ways for her to feel. She could still make him hurt – perhaps not now, but later, when she was further removed from him, when she could make herself not care.

"I've made my peace with him, of sorts. But let him know that if he or any of his subjects chooses to… act rashly against me, there will be consequences. My power is beyond imagination. And, don't let him forget, I'm in possession of information that would lead to more than a little doubt over his moral character."

"What do you mean?"

"Arthur will know what I mean. Remember to tell him everything."

Sagremore nodded. "Um…"

"Yes?"

"What was that first part again?"

-o-

"Arthur?" Merlin came and sat next to him. "What was Sagremore babbling on about?"

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "Morgana gave me an offer of peace. It's uneasy peace, on our part only out of fear of her. She wants us to be afraid. But she's issued no other demands, so I suppose we should be glad." He was not glad; he had thought they had reached a point where Morgana would stop trying to manipulate him.

"Demands other than…?"

"Other than we should make no attempt to attack her. Not that we were planning on it after a certain incident which fortunately she seems to have let us off for."

"I'm sorry," said Merlin again.

"It's all right. Even if you were a bit of a prat."

"What?"

"I said you were a bit of a prat."

"You can't say that," said Merlin, pouting. "I'm the one who's supposed to call _you_ a prat. This isn't how our relationship's supposed to work."

Arthur snorted. "Sorry, but that time the prattery was all yours."

"'Prattery'? That's not even a word."

"It is if I say it is. Let's not forget who's King, Merlin."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Prat."

"Imbecile," said Arthur, failing to keep a straight face.

"See?" said Merlin. "Much better."

-o-

A few weeks after Arthur had visited her, Morgana was in her cottage when she heard someone at the door. Lost travellers perhaps, she thought.

She opened the door and gaped at Lillian.

"Hi there. I'm seeking help, not revenge, before you go pulling out the big guns."

Morgana blinked some more. "The what?"

"Oh, future thing, never mind." Lillian paused and tossed her head. "Where was I? Oh yes, rocks fell – not your fault – I was incapacitated for a while there, yadda yadda, now I barely have the strength to keep up the aesthetic and maybe zip around a bit now and then. I couldn't hurt you if I wanted to, which I don't. Just to be clear."

"Er, so, what is it you wanted?"

"Can I come in?" She craned her neck to peer behind Morgana. "Unless you're in the middle of some nefarious plot against the crown; hear that's what you're into these days. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I mean, we all have our hobbies. I don't judge."

Morgana waved her inside. Lillian sat down, not waiting for an invitation. "As I mentioned, I need to ask a favour. Nothing to put you out, I promise."

"Go on, then," said Morgana, sitting down herself.

"Well, first you have to understand why it was I was hanging around at that wretched coven in the first place. It wasn't the immortality. It was the power I needed. But I'm quite glad things worked out as they did."

"You don't want to be a Fay?"

"Everything comes at a price, Morgana. I expect you're discovering that yourself. I could hardly stand the thought of immortality. But I needed to have that much magic. Or know someone with that much magic." She leant forward conspiratorially. "I need someone who can overpower Merlin."

"Merlin? Why?"

"At night, Merlin guards Arthur's sword Excalibur – I suppose you've heard of it?"

"Of course. I've even used it myself." Lillian nodded at her. "Only twice."

"Do you know its origin?" asked Lillian.

"I know it was taken from a lake."

"It was taken from my sister – my flesh and blood sister – who dwells beneath the surface."

"Underwater?" asked Morgana disbelievingly.

Lillian raised an eyebrow. "You're immortal."

"Well… yes, all right."

"The sword was taken from my sister against her will. I'm sure you know that it's unique."

Morgana considered. "I've heard that it's magical, but it appeared the same as any other sword when I saw it. More ornate, perhaps, but nothing out of the ordinary."

"It can kill wraiths and other magical beings that most weapons are useless against. My sister wishes it to be returned to her, but I can't get past Merlin by myself." Lillian looked to her imploringly.

And so, hours later, Morgana found herself holding Merlin up against his bedroom wall with her magic while Lillian rummaged under the bed.

"Why are you helping her? You don't need Excalibur when you have this much power." Merlin squirmed ineffectually as Lillian pulled out a chest. It was decorated with ivory and precious stones, almost as opulent as its contents.

"The sword belongs to her sister. We are only returning it to its rightful owner," said Morgana. At Lillian's request she overrode Merlin's magical seals on the chest.

"Vivian told me to take it. I think this woman is lying," said Merlin.

Morgana glanced between him and Lillian, who took Excalibur from its sheath and examined it. "I'm not lying. The Lady of the Lake is my sister-"

"She gave the sword to Arthur because it was meant for him!" cried Merlin. "No one else could've taken it."

Lillian went up close to him and tilted her head to one side. "That's true. Do you know who my _other_ sister is, though? You made a deal with her once, but you couldn't accept the consequences, despite being prepared for them." She smiled. "I needed Arthur to get hold of Excalibur for me." She transformed directly before them into a beautiful girl with big brown eyes.

"No," whispered Merlin. Morgana gaped at Vivian - or Lillian? – but kept him pinned where he was. She was not sure what exactly was happening or who was in the right any more.

"Does it hurt to be deceived?" asked Vivian, almost laughing with glee. "Nimueh is avenged." She stabbed Merlin clean through the heart.

Morgana released him and turned to restrain Vivian at the same moment that Arthur burst in, clearly half-asleep, with a poker in one hand. He stood frozen, struck dumb by the sight before him, a harrowed look upon his face. Merlin was propped up by the wall, blood dripping down over his abdomen. He made a couple of loathsome gurgling sounds; Morgana pulled Excalibur from his chest and tried hard to repair the damage, but to no avail.

"A wound made by Excalibur can't be healed by magic," he managed to say. "Vivian planned this."

Vivian glared at her with darkened eyes, realising that she was trapped. "Aren't you grateful, Morgana? Didn't you want him dead? Be better than me. Have some humanity…"

"I haven't had any for a while now," said Morgana plainly. She thrust Excalibur into Vivian's side without hesitation.

She heard Vivian's scream and Arthur's gasp of horror as the two mighty sorcerers fell like dead leaves, but Morgana did not stay to watch further. She had wanted to see Arthur like this, had revelled at the mere thought of it. Now Merlin lay dead and Arthur's spirits would be crushed, just as she had wished.

She could feel everything so clearly now, suffer the full shame and abhorrence of the situation, and she could not bear it.


	16. Chapter 16

-o-o-

**16.**

-o-o-

Arthur wiped his brow and wandered off the field to where his wife stood watching.

"How did Agravain do?" she asked.

Arthur considered. Agravain had some skill, though it seemed learned rather than instinctive. He had an impressive set of moves at his disposal but his execution was clumsy. They did not need more knights, not really, and Arthur was tired of trialling them. He had been without Merlin for months now but still somehow everything he did seemed twice the effort it had been previously. That was another thing, of course, how Agravain's youthful, determined face with bright blue eyes and perpetually rumpled black hair reminded him almost painfully of his best friend, though Agravain had none of Merlin's cheerfulness.

"I think he'll have to come back in a few years," he said. Maybe by that point his chest wouldn't tighten and ache every time he looked at him.

"Are you all right?"

"It's nothing." He kissed her. "I love you, you know. You keep me sane… relatively, anyway."

She smiled and tipped her head in the direction of the field. "I think Constantine is waiting to be put through his paces."

Arthur gave an exaggerated sigh, kissed her again and went back over.

-o-

"Arthur? What is it?" asked Guinevere. He was sitting up in bed in the semi-darkness.

"Bad dream," he said. "Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep."

"If you're sure," she said and rolled back over.

Arthur stayed sitting. He could not remember anything of the dream except that he had been worried – worried for Morgana, of all people. Nothing on Earth could harm her, but still, he had a bad feeling. He had received no communication from her for over four years. There had been tales of terrible deeds that he had chosen to ignore, but he had no real idea of where she was or what she was doing.

Sleep would never come to him now; he got up carefully so as not to wake Guinevere and dressed before stepping out into the corridor. Something small and energetic collided with his leg. "Daddy!" it squealed.

He reached down to lift Edith up and bounce her in his arms. "What are you doing up so early? It's not even dawn yet." He brushed her brown curls out of her eyes.

"Put me down and I'll show you." She wriggled but he kept hold of her. "Put me down."

"I'm sorry, what was that?" asked Arthur, grinning.

"I don't like this game."

"I'm afraid I just couldn't hear what you said."

She gave a heavy sigh, as if dealing with adults were a strain on her nerves. "Put me down _please_."

He set her down on the floor. "All right, then, show me, but keep quiet. Your mother's asleep."

She stretched up to grab his hand and led him over to the window, which she was too short to see through. She looked up at him, annoyed.

"What is it, darling?"

She pouted. "You know what it is, Daddy."

Arthur shook his head, smiling, and scooped her up again. "I don't like saying I was wrong either."

Edith pointed out of the window. "Snow."

It was hard to see – the night was not over yet – but there was indeed snow. "Hm," said Arthur, with a serious face. "I suppose you'll be dragging your poor father along to help you with that."

"Can't make snowmen by myself."

He nodded. "And what would we do without snowmen?"

"What else would there be snow for? I asked Nanny but she couldn't say." She became restless again. "You have to put me down, so she can get me warm clothes."

"I'm sorry? You have to speak up," said Arthur and she stuck her tongue out at him.

-o-

Morgana had lived by herself for years on an island too insignificant to even merit a name when she first came across it. She had built her own castle, brick by brick, because she was bored. Nothing held her interest for long when all she felt was incessant bliss and she could have whatever she wished for with a wave of her hand. She had never studied architecture and her home ended up lop-sided, but she decided that it didn't matter and propped it up with strategically-placed buttresses and a large dose of magic.

She had gone back to the Isle of the Blessed - what a ridiculous name – and excavated the Hesperideans' library, managing to salvage quite a few books. She stood in the centre of the island and tore down the ruins until they were all rubble at her feet, because she could, but it was predictably unsatisfying. She dug up the golden cup they had used in their ritual and flung it out deep into the ocean where it would never be found.

Her name had become something of a legend in itself. Parents probably warned their children to eat their dinners or fear Morgana the Fay, who would snatch them sleeping from their beds and take them back to her hellish, decrepit castle on the Island of Shadows. Who knew what went on inside those walls of morbid black stone?

Nothing much was the answer. Morgana carved thrones and embroidered extravagant clothes for herself, created new rooms and furnished them lavishly, and sculpted the marshy island's landscape into new, fantastic shapes. Yet she found no real amusement. Life plodded on, always the same, and she wondered how she would cope for the next few years, let alone eternity.

She wanted to see Arthur again, but now he was almost happy. Lancelot, more guilt-ridden than Arthur on his worst days, had joined a monastery and though Arthur and Guinevere still had their problems, they seemed to be recovering.

What had she ever done for Arthur? She had abandoned him, not once but twice. Merlin would be alive if it were not for her. She could not hurt Arthur again, so she hid from him and waited on she knew not what.

-o-

"Agravain, let the challenge begin."

Although his further years of study had done nothing to relieve Agravain of his peculiar style of coldness, it had certainly affected his swordsmanship; the field rang with the sound of clashing steel as he moved with speed and precision, giving the impression that even if he were behind Arthur in instinct and reflexes his mind was far ahead in calculating his next move.

Much though he had improved, Arthur held him off, and even had the time to wonder how Agravain would suffer a second disappointment, until he caught a certain distraught look in those watery eyes peeking out from the helmet. Somehow it put him off-guard, only for a heartbeat but long enough for Agravain to trip him over and onto the ground.

Agravain held the tip of his sword to Arthur's throat and suddenly the thin, sombre line of his mouth gave way to a conflicted frown, then just as suddenly merged back into place. He removed the blade and offered Arthur a hand to get up.

-o-

The knights waited as Arthur bade farewell to Guinevere. He kissed her and promised that he would return soon, although no one could know when the war would be over and even travelling to Gaul would take long enough.

As he watched, Agravain wondered if there could be any cruelty in a man who loved so ardently. Arthur loved his people and was famed for his mercy, but perhaps he only seemed such a fair ruler in comparison with his tyrant of a father.

Agravain had trained for years to get close to the King and perhaps soon he could have defeated him in combat without recourse to magic. At times he felt proud to serve him - proud, but incredibly guilty. If only, he thought, he had the King's bravery.

He gave a snigger when he realised how ridiculous that wish was, and next to him Gareth gave him a strange look.

-o-

One day, to Morgana's surprise, there came a knock on her heavy wooden door, which she had really only put there for decoration. She opened it with great curiosity to see who would dare disturb the terrible Fay of legend. The young man, quietly handsome, gave her a warm smile.

"What brings you here?" she asked.

"Mama, you haven't aged a day."

Something stirred inside her, a mild flicker of some forgotten reaction. She took Eadred in her arms and held on to him as though he could keep safe her last drops of humanity.

She showed him inside. "All my own work. I can make you anything. What would you like? Anything in the world."

"I'd like to stay here with you for a while," he said. "We haven't seen each other for so long. And I've a few days off work."

"Work?" She created two beautiful silk-cushioned chairs and gestured for him to sit.

"Got myself an apprenticeship at the tailor's. I can't read and write and I'm not very strong, but sewing, that I can do."

"Well, stay as long as you want."

"Thanks. Oh, and Mama…" He scratched nervously at his hair, which was, Morgana noticed with amusement, still in dire need of introduction to a pair of scissors. "I've found myself a girl," he said.

"A girl? You're married?" she asked, smiling.

"Not yet. Soon, I hope. She's beautiful, and her father's well-off."

Morgana shook her head in mock disapproval.

"What? Some people pretend it doesn't matter, but it does. She's lovely, though, promise."

"I'll have to meet her sometime."

Eadred froze. "Er…"

"I can disguise myself."

"Of course you can," he said, relaxing. "I don't want to trouble you, but…"

"I've no wish to scare off your sweetheart, Eddy. Now, how about some dinner?"

-o-

Arthur ordered his forces to stop and set up camp for the night. Though it was not far to Camelot, the darkness had descended rapidly and his men needed rest.

Dinadan picked up a few dry sticks and sauntered over to toss them onto Agravain's pitiful campfire. Water dripped down from the trees above, a residue from the heavy rainstorm earlier, and stopped the flames from burning higher.

"Look at that," said Dinadan, idly ripping pieces of silver birch bark into strips. "Arthur's been bleeding from God knows how many places, head wound and still he won't sit back and let the others do the work. Now there's an honest, hard-working royal if ever I saw one."

Agravain agreed, though seemed irritated to do so.

"It's determination, I think. He commits to things, Arthur," continued Dinadan, staring over at the King in reverential awe. "The mark of a true man, that."

"Yes," said Agravain, giving up on his fire, which fizzled down further as the rain started to fall softly again. "I suppose it is."

-o-

_Arthur is startled as one of his trusted knights holds a sword to his neck and threatens him._

"_Agravain? What has come over you?"_

_The knight's eyes flare gold and he forces Arthur up against the wall._

"_My name is Mordred," he says. "We met long years ago, and I foolishly thought you a just man. My mother is dead because of you, and Agravain…"_

"_What? Who is your mother?" asks Arthur, but she can see he knows all too well._

"_Ah, it must be difficult to recall when you have so much blood on your hands," says Mordred. His voice is shaking, with passion or fear it is impossible to tell. "Her name was Anna. A good and brave woman, burned alive for her sin of helping others."_

_Arthur's expression becomes more panicked. Mordred reaches out a hand and grasps the air, using his magic to choke him without touching him. "And my brother, so innocent; you will suffer like those-"_

"Mama, wake up."

She writhed into consciousness. Eadred had shaken her awake and was looking at her, concerned. "A vision again?"

Morgana explained that she needed to leave immediately.

"Immediately?"

"Yes, I have to go…" She hurried about, finding a cloak and her shoes.

"What did you see? What's shaken you?"

"I don't have time…"

"Mama, please."

She looked at him gravely. "The king will not survive this day." She paused for a second. "Look after yourself."

Morgana disappeared, leaving Eadred gaping at the place where she had stood.

-o-

Guinevere went up to Merlin's grave on the hill, in the shadow of a large cherry tree. There was a patch of flattened and worn grass beside the mound – where Arthur would sit, she thought and wept anew.

She sat next to the patch and stared at it, crying all the while.

"Oh Merlin," she mumbled, only half to herself. "They tell me you're in a better place, and Father and Mother and Arthur too, and that I'll join you all one day, and I believe them. You're wiser than me; tell me, why doesn't that console me?"

The wind picked up for a second and she shivered, pulling her shawl further around her shoulders.

"I suppose life goes on, doesn't it? They say that too. I have to look after Edith. She's grown up so much; you'd hardly recognise her if you saw her. And there's Constantine, he might need my advice. He's only young, though he's older than Arthur was… oh, who thought I'd think that that young was young… I'm sorry, I'm talking nonsense."

The tears had gone now; she lay down, avoiding the worn grass as if in respect for it, and smiled a little that she could remember silly things that Arthur had said such a long time ago. "Oh, it hurts. But it won't always, will it? I'll lie here for a moment, and then I'll go back and help Constantine. Arthur would want that. I'll just stay with you for a moment, Merlin."

She lay on her back and looked up to the morning sky as the golden streaks of dawn crept across the dull canvas of grey. Gold like Merlin's eyes, she thought.

"I hope you'll look after him 'til I can," she mumbled finally before falling into a gentle sleep.

-o-

Morgana was surprised at how Arthur's imminent death, truly final this time, had affected her. For once she felt as if she might actually cry. Perhaps Eadred's company had awakened something of her old emotions. He had always been so grateful to her for saving his life and his sight.

She knew where to go. The dream had always stopped so abruptly that she still did not know what was to happen next, but there had been such urgency to it this time that she knew Arthur would come to her soon. She stood calmly by the edge of the lake and thought.

_For life there must be life given_. _Your destiny is more than that. He shall return when there is need of him._

A calm feeling of resolution washed over her. As two knights came bearing Arthur's unconscious body, Morgana gazed between the dying king and the shimmering ripples at the surface of the lake, his loyal friends and the deep, cold water, and understood.

_For life there must be life given_. Morgana certainly had life to spare, and she had never been one for withering away quietly at the edges of the world.

-o-

Arthur woke. Morgana held his head in her lap. She wore a black cloak with a cowl, her dark hair spilling down and brushing gently against his face. Around her he could see nothing but foggy grey.

"You're with me at last, Arthur." Her eyes were shining a pale gold.

"Am I dead?" he asked.

"Would you be talking to me if you were?"

"Don't know. I've never been dead before." His head felt fuzzy and he started to ramble. "Why would I be here if I'm not? Are you dead too? Am I spending eternity with you? Because-"

"Arthur, shush." She stroked his hair to soothe him. "You're not dead."

"No?"

"No," said Morgana. She leant down to kiss his forehead. "I forgive you."

"Forgive me what?"

"Everything."

"I don't-"

She held a finger to his lips. "Please."

"Fine, I accept your forgiveness," he said weakly, for the sake of agreement. He shifted a little. "Where are we?" He lifted his head to see the blood running down, gathering in the bottom of the small boat – for that was where they were – and tinging the bottom of Morgana's cloak.

"Ah," said Arthur, in a way that was almost comical.

Morgana pushed his head back down. "Don't look. I made the pain go away."

"But you didn't stop the bleeding," he said, with no resentment.

Her voice sounded choked up. "Even the most powerful magic is nothing to fate."

"So when you say I'm not dead… what you really mean is not yet." Morgana didn't answer, just looked at him forlornly. He gave a spluttery sigh. "Women."

"Arthur." Her eyes were brimming with tears. "I tried. You must know I tried."

He smiled sadly. "So did I."

They were quiet for a moment. The sky behind Morgana began to clear. She was distracted for a moment by something over her shoulder.

"Morgana?" He wanted her to be looking at him; for a moment he was frightened.

"Remember me," she said suddenly and kissed him with such affection that it was disorientating.

"I'll remember _that_," Arthur mumbled to himself, lost in drowsiness. He caught a glimpse of what she had seen, but his eyes were drooping shut.

The towers of Avalon shimmered on the horizon as Morgana held him close, her tears wetting his face and his blood slowly seeping through the fabric of her dress.

-o-

**THE END**


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